


You Must Know Who I Am

by arrowinthesky (restfulsky5)



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Babs has issues, Bat Family, Bruce Has Issues, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crossover begins in Chapter 13, Edited Version, Eventual Superman Crossover, F/M, Family Issues, Forgiveness, Freeform, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Jimmy has issues, Memory Loss, Nightwing - Freeform, Non-Consensual Touching, Post The Dark Knight Rises, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Rewrite, Romance, Short term memory loss, Sibling issues, Slow Burn, Traumatic Brain Injury, eventual, long fic, migraines, new identities, secrecy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2018-10-30 12:18:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 105,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10876641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restfulsky5/pseuds/arrowinthesky
Summary: Bruce fights to regain the parts of himself that he lost while saving Gotham. In a twist of circumstances, Selina finds herself where she wanted to be - by his side. He fears that he'll never know her the way he imagines. She discovers that he's been right about her all along.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally bringing this story over from the fanfiction site! I’ve been asked to do this several times before, but it was never the right time. Fortunately, I’ve been hit with some major inspiration. I'll edit the story as I post since I can’t post it in here its current condition, not when my writing style has changed so much over the years. That said, if you’ve read this fic on the other site, and think it’s the same but different, you’re not seeing things. It “is” a little different. Hopefully, it will read more smoothly. ;) I intend to tighten up the chapters and rid the scenes of any unnecessary parts, but the main plot will not change. Neither will any subplots, although I’d like to tweak a few. I’ll mostly be changing the narrative/dialogue, instead.
> 
> Please note that this is a fairly long fic, with over 250k words and counting. I have through chapter forty-four completed on FF.net, with several more to go before it’s done. So if you’re worried that this is going to be a long WIP, that will take forever, you’re in luck. It’s actually very close to being done! (Though it’s taken me three years to get this far! LOL!) And, I’ve planned a sequel. ;)
> 
>  
> 
> A few random notes. This is a semi-slow burn, as I don’t think Bruce and Selina would immediately jump into a relationship after TDKR. Bruce’s medical issues could get in the way, too. I’ll be treating medical conditions as realistically as possible in this. I don’t believe in an instant healing for Bruce after the events of TDKR. He was already in bad shape. IMHO, it really isn’t realistic to write it otherwise.
> 
> I love the Nolanverse and fully understand that there are no “powers” in it, but my muse had other plans, as you can see from the tags. The crossover with Superman doesn’t begin until later on (after chapter 33 or thereabouts) but I’m amending the content to better suit that. I’ll be slipping in mentions of Superman here and there in the narrative or dialogue where appropriate, to make that transition more realistic, too. 
> 
> I’ll be posting another edited chapter this weekend, and then when I can around a few other WIPS. Nothing will be beta read at this point, for my own convenience at this time, though that could change. Mistakes are all my own.
> 
> Thank you, and happy reading! I hope you enjoy it. :)

The call came mid-afternoon the first day, but Selina brushed it off as she folded the last of her meager clothing into a suitcase. When the number came across the screen again later that evening, she didn't bother then, either. She was tying up loose ends in Gotham and leaving the country the very next morning, and how had Dr. Thompkins remembered her alternate phone number, anyway?

 

The Clean Slate had erased all her active and past numbers under her legal name, leaving only those registered under an alias. And one she used intermittently—a Ms. Catherine Asher. She also hadn’t contacted Dr. Thompkins in years, assuming she’d forgotten about her just like everyone else had as she forged her own path. A criminal path, but a darker one than even she had expected.

 

But the next day, the call came again, in the morning and five minutes before Selina planned to leave her apartment for the airport. She finally answered, God knows why. Months later Selina still wouldn't deny that it had, at the very least, gutted her well-laid plans. For now, it remained an annoying reminder of why being indebted to anyone led to trouble.

 

“Hello?” she asked without bending to the lump lodged in her throat.

 

“Selina, it's Leslie."

 

Selina braced herself against the torrent of memories that had flooded back ever since the doctor's number had popped up on her tiny phone screen. Now, hearing Leslie's voice ushered in a menagerie of memories of the woman who'd offered refuge and healing on Crime Alley to the wounded riffraff of the street. Of the mother-figure trying to nurture the best in an abandoned young girl hell-bent on saving only herself. Of a doctor who'd treated the injuries Selina no doubt sustained because of her many sins, no questions asked.

 

Selina expelled a breath slowly and sank down onto her sofa. She put the phone on speaker beside her, tucked her clutch tightly underneath her crossed arms, and waited. She'd not talked to Dr. Leslie Thompkins in over three years, ever since she'd gotten in over her head with the wrong people. They'd gone their separate ways, but Selina heard the strain lacing in the doctor's greeting immediately. That simple greeting—and her name—a rare whisper from the doctor’s lips.

 

"Selina?" Leslie’s voice shook, like she was breathless.

 

"I'm here," she admitted, her past as a young woman under Leslie’s care preventing her from hanging up without learning why the doctor seemed so rattled.

 

"I'm sorry to bother you, Selina, but…." A fatigued sigh _wooshed_ through the speaker. "I...I need your help."

 

Selina's fingers curled around the cool leather of her clutch. Her instincts had been correct. This wasn't a friendly farewell. "Yes?" She tried not to let her tone betray how terribly inconvenient all of this was and quite possibly the worst timing she could ever imagine.

 

"This is.” The doctor hesitated. “Not a good time, I take it."

 

Selina rolled her eyes. Like she would back out of the conversation now when Leslie sounded needy and so unlike herself. "Leslie, it's fi—"

 

"I'm short-handed at the clinic," Leslie interrupted, her voice shaking more. "You can't imagine the need since Bane's occupation of Gotham and now that he's gone...we're...I..."

 

Selina counted to ten. She could see now where this was headed, and she didn't want to hear it. Any of it. She should hang up now, before she allowed Leslie to go on and get her hopes up when she remained silent. A polite listener, when she was anything but that.

 

But this was Leslie. And she was right. Bane had nearly destroyed the city, its citizens picking up the pieces since the Batman had died.

 

She sighed, giving in to the pressure. Patience had never been her virtue. Hell, she didn't have a single virtue in her body, a fact that Leslie seemed to have forgotten.

 

"Could you possibly come help me for a few days?” Leslie continued hurriedly. “I have a particular patient who needs more time than I can give to them right now. No training necessary. Besides, I know you'd be able to do mostly anything I ask you to do. You could always think on your feet, better than most.”

 

Flattery usually didn’t have an affect on her, but when had been the last time she’d been needed? Truly needed to help someone else?

 

Her heart caught in her throat when she realized her question was simply ridiculous. She’d been needed here in Gotham once. But that time was over.

 

She cleared her throat, her heart now pounding in her chest. "Why me?"

 

"I need someone light of foot and quick of mind."

 

Selina dropped her head back, half-smiling at the compliment. "That I am."

 

"I remember,” Leslie mused. "You never let a chance go by to sneak into my clinic undetected. Always proving you were ahead of everyone else, even if you were but a wisp of a child."

 

She made it sound like Selina had been a beautiful child with a pleasant, carefree childhood. Not a skinny kid with stringy hair who’d had no real home or parents to watch over her.

 

The memory too bitter to continue, she sighed again. "I have plans, you know,” she said, not even bothering to hide her displeasure.

 

She was already running late thanks to this call. Her watch read a minute past the time she'd set to leave for the airport.

 

"I wouldn't be calling you if—"

 

"Leslie, please," Selina cut in before she could stop herself from being completely rude and berate Leslie going as far as begging.

 

Memories provoked by the doctor's request flashed through her mind and quickened the nausea growing in the pit of her stomach. It was like the plague, the goodness of Bruce Wayne. A plague she could no more rid herself of than she could rid herself of her own hand. She squeezed her eyes shut, wanting to rid her mind of his face and her heart of his predictable hero complex.

 

She didn't have room for that in her life. It cramped her style, but her tongue wouldn't listen. "I'll be there."

 

"Thank you." Leslie's voice brightened noticeably.

 

"Not this afternoon, but probably tonight." She reached over to her cellphone and pressed end, foregoing the unnecessary courtesy of a goodbye.

 

Besides, she was well-acquainted with the route to Crime Alley. She didn’t need a map, or a few directions, to get to the place that had been her resting ground as a teenage delinquent.

 

Uncrossing her legs, Selina stared dispassionately at the two pieces of luggage she'd prepared for the afternoon flight. She hadn't planned on taking much, only the suitcase and carry-on. Anything that remained in the apartment would go to Jen. Selina had cleaned out her fridge and cupboards the day before. She'd erased her name and everything tied to it the day before that, the drive with the Clean Slate now safely tucked in her brassiere.

 

It was done, and her future awaited her. Only a different future than what she'd originally planned. Her flight to Paris had promised a new start but had given no certainty that her inner turmoil would end. As she sat contemplating how everything had changed in a blink of an eye, her suppressed, unshed tears festered behind her eyes, withering every sane thought in her mind.

 

Agreeing to help Leslie with her patients? Good Lord, what had she'd been thinking?

 

A solitary tear fell from the corner of her eye before she even realized it, slowly streaking down her perfect complexion. It slipped, and then another slipped, and another; like a dam having broken, the hairline cracks having burst open at Leslie's call.

 

Selina kicked off her heels and curled into herself, rocking back and forth as the hurt she'd accumulated and tamped down the past five months finally unleashed. She allowed herself to weep. Allowed the bottled up despair claw up her throat with such unprecedented emotion that she could barely breathe.

 

She spared herself nothing, for experiencing the pain made it all tangible. She could feel him here with her, beside her, although she'd never have the chance to find out what it would be like to kiss him a third time.

 

Selina knew exactly what she'd been thinking of this morning.

 

Bruce Wayne's funeral commenced this very hour.

 

________________________

 

 

Unfurling herself from the sofa was no small task, but she'd weighed her excuses and there was but one thing to do.

 

Still, as the taxi turned into the drive and Selina arrived at Wayne Manor with a completely different itinerary than the first time she came, she duly blamed Wayne for the fact that she missed her flight.

 

Selina instructed the driver to drop her off in front of the door and stepped out onto the driveway as if she had every right to be paying her respects to the wasteful, dimwitted, playboy of Gotham, albeit after the actual ceremony. Her black dress skimmed over her body with smooth precision, the broad-rimmed hat on her head effortlessly cloaking her emotions. Only her face, hidden in the shadows and slightly swollen from her tears, betrayed her.

 

Unconsciously, she rested a hand upon her collarbone as the memory of the last time she'd walked along the same path resurfaced. She'd been dressed similarly, except for the hat and lack of pearls. On that day, the holiday remembrance at Wayne Manor had been well-attended to honor their deceptively-placed hero, Harvey Dent. Today, the grounds echoed silence in an unearthly hollowness, despite the scent of a freshly cut lawn wafting over her. How odd that someone had taken the time, despite Wayne's financial losses and now, his death, to trim the yard.

 

The gated plot of land loomed before her, holding the empty but fresh grave of Bruce Wayne. The grave she was incapable of ignoring. She continued past the manor and could not subdue her surprise when she saw the man observing her from the expanse of a front window. It was the butler who'd handed her the key, unknowingly enabling her all the more to act and begin the domino effect which led to the ultimate demise of his employer.

 

From beneath the shade of her hat, Selina let down her guard. Publicly, just this once. Grief—the ancient, raw kind that Selina had only read about in books and turned a blind eye to in her own life (with the exception of this very morning)—lined every crevice of the old man's face. It hinted at a history between them. That the butler had an attachment to Bruce was, in Selina's opinion, somewhat of an anomaly. They'd been close. They had to have been. Maybe he’d known Bruce's secret, and maybe—

 

Bruce. She huffed in disbelief. She'd taken to calling the man by his first name and, even worse, had begun to contemplate the relationships he’d had outside of his mask. It wasn't any of her business, as tempting as it was to continue humanizing the Batman.

 

She should spare herself, shouldn’t she? It was what she always did. What she had to do to survive.

 

Her eyes dashed away from the window, the butler's crumpling expression unraveling the emotions she thought she'd tamped down with her strong resolve as she stepped out of her home.

 

She lifted her chin and walked quietly along the path towards the small graveyard. With a sweep of her hand, the gate swung open on a squeaking hinge, lending itself to the eeriness she felt stepping on these sacred, private grounds.

 

It was easy to find. Wayne's headstone, the newer of the two beside it, mocked her fight for composure. She set her back ramrod straight, silently reading his name over and over again as if to carve it into her heart.

 

She couldn't form any spoken words. She didn't feel she needed to. What she did feel, she whispered from a battered corner of her heart before her own scorn for vulnerability sealed her emotions safely inside again. The man behind the cape and cowl, whoever he'd been, had reduced her years of independence, the years of fight-or-flight, to this humble apology.

 

_I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. For all I did to you. Every last part._

 

The Bruce Wayne she'd met seemed a far cry from the tabloids. Eight years of banishment, crippled and alone with the exception of his butler, surely chiseled away at the worthless, self-serving billionaire facade Wayne once held up for Gotham. Upon their second meeting, he'd been caring, altogether too forgiving, and eager to know her. He'd been suave, of course. Once or twice he'd showed his wit and charm, and—

 

Selina covered her mouth, a slip of a sob held back with a tenacious effort. Her shoulders shuddered once as she pitted her skillful control against her gripping sadness.

 

She knew this wasn't a good idea. It was _his_ fault. For making her care. For making her sorry for every part she'd played.

 

For a short amount of time, Bruce had changed her with those simple words—I think there's more to you.

 

Without a doubt, Selina could no longer deny she once wished there was more to her. But that was when Bruce Wayne walked this earth. She couldn't be that woman now.

 

She didn't even know where to begin.

 

________________________

 

_One day ago_

 

A droning hum pulled him from slumber, matching the pain in his aching skull. Bruce quickly wished he hadn’t awakened at all but had remained ignorant and in the throes of unconsciousness. Joining the chorus were higher-pitched, successive beeps that could drive a man to madness, and threatened to do so to him now.

 

Already entrenched in a mind-boggling migraine, his eyes remained closed despite his best efforts, exhaustion and excruciating pain stripping away his ability to fight the heaviness pressing into his body on all sides.

 

Breathing slowly, he depended upon his training to keep himself calm and observant of his surroundings with his other senses. He took stock of his body, for something else was different. Something was incredibly wrong. He couldn’t identify where he was in the first place, or how he got here.

 

He'd climbed out of the pit. Had he escaped, merely to be caught again? Beaten? He shifted his aching knees—but stopped almost immediately. Stunned by the throbbing pain in his side, he stilled the best he could, panting as he regained control of his body. Although this was uncomfortable, he'd been in worse situations before.

 

Wherever this was, it wasn't his cave or master bedroom. The sounds were different. The smell was different. His instincts told him it was different. And, maybe...even safe.

 

A hand rested on his forehead. Involuntarily he shied away, but another hand braced his head. "Ah, you're awake."

 

He foolishly grunted, unable to help himself.

 

"A migraine again?" the woman murmured.

 

He flinched at the very word.

 

Migraines?

 

Even as a recluse he’d never gotten them.

 

"I'm giving you something for the pain now." The hand stroked his hair back once, then twice, a comforting gesture "It'll help you very, very soon."

 

Familiar but far away, the voice settled over him as the drug took over. His body craved the loose-limbed feeling seeping into every agonized muscle. The familiar ache in his knees diminished and his migraine retreated to a manageable level.

 

"Can you try to open your eyes for me?" she asked.

 

Finding that he'd gained a little strength, he fought and won. Through narrow slits, he observed a woman bending over him, silhouetted by the soft lights behind her.

 

"Where am I?" His voice, rough and cracked, bespoke of disuse.

 

Had he been out that long?

 

She made a soft noise in her throat. "Somewhere safe."

 

He forced his eyes to open wider, finally seeing the woman standing above him. She smiled down at him, gray hair and lines revealing her to be about twenty-five years his senior. He knew this woman. Alfred knew this woman—and trusted her.

 

"Leslie." Bruce focused on the face of Dr. Leslie Thompkins, a woman he'd known since the time of his parents' murder.

 

"Yes." Her faint smile widened. "I'm glad you're finally awake. How are you feeling?"

 

"Where am I?" Quiet and weak, his voice was lost in the throes of the machines.

 

"You were hurt and came directly to me. Do you remember?"

 

He had nothing to appease her, or himself, but wasn’t that normal after certain accidents? Maybe he’d been struck, had a concussion. "No,” he said hoarsely.

 

The doctor's smile flickered, doing nothing to help the sinking feeling he had in his stomach. "Do you remember your name?"

 

"Bruce Wayne." His throat burned to talk anymore. He coughed, and Leslie quickly brought a cup of water to his lips and placed a straw in his mouth.

 

He eagerly sipped.

 

"Drink slowly, Bruce,” she cautioned as he choked, then coughed again.

 

He took three more sips and, spent from the effort, turned his head away from the offered drink.

 

She pulled the glass away from him. “Who is your butler?" she asked softly.

 

The question confused him. She knew who was his butler, but he’d humor her. "Alfred…” He swallowed with difficulty. “Pennyworth."

 

"Can you tell me today's date?"

 

"I...." Unable to answer, he queried her in return, his voice remaining oddly strained and fatigued. "Why...all…the questions?"

 

"Try for just the month," she urged gently.

 

"Aug…August. No. Octo..." The words scraped across his throat, the burn too much, causing him to fall silent.

 

Her expression shadowed. "I’m sorry to keep asking you questions, Bruce, when you are unwell, but I do need you to answer me. Do you recall where you were a day ago?"

 

"Climbing...out of a pit." He stopped, breathing heavily from the exertion. He’d climbed to get to Gotham. His eyes widened. "Bane."

 

"Bane is no longer a threat to Gotham, Bruce. The Batman took care of that."

 

He didn't remember taking care of it. His expression told her as much for the doctor's face fell, as if she knew exactly who he was.

 

But that was impossible.

 

"You were in a pit?" Leslie nodded, urging him on. He frowned, unable to add anything to the story. "That's more than what you told me before."

 

That wasn’t good. "Before?"

 

"Yesterday," she said quietly. "We talked yesterday, Bruce, and the day before that. You didn't climb out of the pit yesterday, because you were here, same as four days ago. And it's February."

 

Bruce stared at her for a long moment, uncomfortable with the implications. That couldn’t be right, could it?

 

“Bruce,” Leslie whispered, her eyes piteous. “I now this is a lot to take in, and I’m sorry for that.

 

Resigned, he asked, "What happened, Leslie?"

 

"You sustained a traumatic brain injury. You were also stabbed on your right side, below your lungs. Do you remember?"

 

"No," he whispered, this new knowledge unnerving.

 

She squeezed his hand. "The good news is that I repaired the damage. The bad news is that the knife had been tipped with poison, which accounts for the severe pain you feel in the affected area. I synthesized an antidote and now your body is working hard to cleanse itself. There are previous injuries we need to discuss and, eventually formulate a gameplan to fix them. But for now, know that for the most part your body is healing. You can stay here as long as you want. You're in a secluded area and I've admitted you under an alias, Thomas Highland. I'll write it down for you, along with a few other things, so you can refresh your memory when needed."

 

He could hardly grasp most of what she said, his migraine already returning full-force. "My memory loss...is it permanent?" he rasped.

 

He saw it in her eyes before she even replied.

 

He’d been wrong. This was far worse than anything he’d ever endured.

 

Her eyes flickered with sadness. "I've seen short memory return with therapy after a few weeks but it could be months, Bruce. You just need time.”

 

"Leslie...my head...it's...it hurts." He paused, drawing a ragged breath and unsure how to describe his pain. Unsure he knew why it hurt to begin with.

 

"I'm sorry, Bruce. I've already increased your medication, but I’ll do it again," she murmured.

 

More medication? "Painkillers...no."

 

"Bruce, for now, it is best that you’re comfortable as your recuperate, giving your body a break.”

 

"No," he whispered harshly. "Please. Can't...think."

 

"Stubborn man, I'm not about to let you call the shots this time," she huffed. "You're not invincible, you know. I’m giving you the medication this time. When you’re a little better, I’ll compromise.”

 

He closed his eyes, the simplicity of feeling safe overwhelming, as if this refuge was what he'd wanted. Leslie, as strong of a woman she was to be here in the midst of criminals, had always mothered him in his earlier years when Alfred took his small charge on trips to visit her. "How did...I get...here?"

 

"You brought yourself, to my very back door."

 

"The clinic," Bruce opened his eyes. "I'm at...your clinic."

 

Leslie nodded. "I don't know how you made it, because I know where you came from, dripping wet and still in your suit, although you'd lost your cape and cowl—"

 

A sound of dismay slipped from the back of his throat.

 

Leslie cocked an eye. "Really, Bruce Wayne. I put two and two together whenever Alfred told me of your exploits spelunking, water-polo, or whatever else you two concocted to hide the truth about your injuries. Yes, I know what you’ve been hiding from the people of Gotham. Thankfully, I’m the only one in the clinic that knows your secret."

 

She paused, observing him with a tender expression despite the tightness around her mouth. Bruce mentally fidgeted, getting the feeling he was about to be scolded.

 

“Bruce,” she began cautiously, “I must tell you that Alfred doesn't know you're here."

 

"He doesn't?" Taken aback, Bruce asked slowly, "How long...have I've been here?"

 

"Four days, Bruce," she said softly. "I'm not altogether thrilled with keeping the truth from Alfred, Bruce, but it was the first thing you said to me— _Don't tell Alfred. I'm not ready. He's not either. Bruce Wayne has to be remain dead. Promise me, Leslie. Or I'll leave right now_."

 

Bruce stared at her, trying to solve his own riddle. He recalled having words with Alfred about Rachel and his life as Batman, but beyond that, he could not make an emotional connection between that and what he'd told Leslie. "So, you...you haven't told him that I am here? I must have had a good reason...for asking for your silence. I admit, however, that I'm surprised you listened to me."

 

"You were very serious about leaving if I didn't promise. I don't go back on my promises, Bruce, even if I don't agree with a patient's personal wishes. Besides, being that you’d just saved the city of Gotham from becoming a nuclear wasteland, by flying the bomb out over the bay, thereby killing Batman, I thought it was the least I could do."

 

"I flew it...killing...what?" He groaned and closed his hands, tightly fisting the sheets. "I remember the bomb being a threat, and Bane…” His breath hitched. “Is he still in Gotham?"

 

"He's dead,” Leslie said, her voice too even and calm. He must have asked her this before. “His men no longer have power over the city."

 

"Dead.” Bruce blinked. He had no memory of this, either. It seemed impossible. "How?"

 

"Shot, but I don't know by whom." Leslie squeezed his hand. "Maybe I should get you a newspaper. And a mirror."

 

"A mirror? What for?"

 

Her eyes drifted over his face pointedly. "So you can see your new disguise."

 

Cautiously, he lifted a hand. The hair at his chin surprised him. It was a goatee, similar to the bearded he'd worn as a recluse. "This isn't...so bad. Where did you...did you find the disguise?"

 

"I was involved in theater back in the day.” She smiled. "It's when I met Alfred. Had a few things on hand and came up with the rest to make sure no one recognizes the clean cut, handsome playboy billionaire. Your goatee and ponytail..."

 

 _Ponytail?_ His eyes widened.

 

"...are a very dark brown. Almost black."

 

"I like black,” he muttered, his eyes too heavy to keep open. “I shouldn’t be here,” he whispered, irritated by his predicament. “What...happened?” he asked, desperately trying to keep himself awake. It was the only way he could make sense of anything.

 

Leslie gave him a small smile. "You must listen to your body, Bruce. You can't go back to what you were doing. It is possible your memory will return with work, but I can't promise that you'll be as lucky the next time. Do you understand what I am saying?"

 

"It's time for me to retire—this time for good." The words felt right. It didn't distress him to say those words, or pain him to believe that he'd follow through. He felt...relieved, even. That the Batman had been taken from him, once and for all. Something he’d wanted but could never attain on his own, not even by his own free will.

 

He could hear Alfred’s voice, a haunting _I told you so,_ loud and clear.

 

"Yes." She sat down in the chair beside him, leaning forward with a somber expression. "Bruce, your body has been broken more times than I thought a person could be broken and yet, survive, let alone walk. While you recuperate, I promise you a refuge here as long as you need it."

 

"I trust you." He did, but he also had no choice. He had nowhere else to turn to without sorely inconveniencing someone.

 

"I know you do, and I hope you trust me when we talk more about a recent, serious back injury of yours?"

 

"It healed." It wasn't so much a defensive reply as the truth.

 

"If that's what you call it," she countered. "But let's not talk about that now. I want you to rest, not that you're going to be able to do anything else, the way you depleted your body."

 

"Thank you."

 

"You're welcome, Bruce. About Alfred..."

 

As Leslie's voice trailed off, Bruce realized she was inferring something, but the epiphany never came. His memory failed him, and he was unable to draw a single conclusion as to why he’d wanted himself dead to the world.

 

“I hope you remember what you forgot, Bruce. Soon. I don't think we need to talk anymore now."

 

He nodded once, the weight of his situation suddenly exhausting. Leslie's footsteps had all but diminished from the room when his memory relinquished the image of a woman, alluring eyes wide and hopeful, pleading with him.

 

"Selina." He desperately needed Selina. Why, he couldn't remember, but it was as if she were part of his plan, even though he didn't remember having a plan in the first place.

 

"Selina?" Leslie's footsteps came nearer, and Bruce heard her breathing, hovering over him again.

 

Selina. Bruce had lost her, but he never had her to begin with. If he was here, and it was...

 

"How long...have I...?" he mumbled, eyes fluttering open.

 

"Four days, Bruce." Her smile was sad, but he didn't know why. "You've been here four days."

 

 _Four days._ He'd come back to Gotham. That much he remembered. That and his intention to ask her for her help. But he still couldn't remember what his plan had been. Had he actually asked her to help him? Had she agreed? She wouldn’t stick around, that much Bruce remembered about her. That...and her seductive beauty. She'd forced him from that first pit he'd been in, the wretched pit of self-pity that he’d wallowed in for eight years, by stealing the only possession on this earth that meant anything to him.

 

Why did it hurt so much that the thief was gone? He tried to muffle groan, sparing Leslie his frustration, but it escaped his throat as a low growl. " _Selina_."

 

"Bruce, do you mean Selina Kyle?” Leslie hesitated. “Was she the woman who helped Batman procure the bomb? The masked woman?"

 

He knew only one masked woman. It had to be her. _She'd stayed?_

 

"I...I don't know, but she knows who...who I am…”

 

He’d laugh at the absurdity at that statement, if what felt like a hammer wasn’t doing its best to pound and destroy his skull. Both he and Selina had tried to be but shadows in this world, replacing relationships with either crime or crime-fighting.

 

"Bruce, I know where to find her," Leslie said breathlessly. "She could possibly help you sort through your memories of what happened."

 

"I believed there...was more to her...but..." Bruce slowly exhaled, unsure if he should even bring Miss Kyle into his mess. "Be careful, Leslie. She may not be a friend."

 

Strangely enough, his heart squeezed painfully at the thought.

 

He hoped that he wasn’t putting Leslie or anyone else at the clinic in danger. It was the last thing he wanted to do.

 

"I'll be careful, Bruce, but if you're willing, I'll bring her here." Leslie squeezed his shoulder.

 

He had no choice. "Yes,” he agreed. It was a risk, but no other answer would do.

 

"You're certain?"

 

"But...don't force her to stay. And...and if she decides to leave, I'll be fine,” he said hoarsely. “I wouldn't want to clip her wings."

 

He paused, reveling in a vibrant memory of holding her in his arms, dancing with the woman who’d charmed him with her natural elegance and confidence. It was a magnificent image, the only clear one he had of her before the betrayal which had damned him.

 

"You know her well, Bruce," Leslie observed softly.

 

Know her? He'd only spent five months in a desolate pit, imagining that he'd been right about her all along, only to come to this point where, ironically, he couldn't even begin to know her the way he’d wanted to.

 

And with a chance that he never, ever would.

 

“...after which, I’ll let you rest,” the woman was saying.

 

He blinked several times, her voice warbling in his ears along with everything else.

 

Was she talking to him? Where was he? He knew those sounds around him. Was he at a hospital? How’d he get here?

 

Why did his head feel like it was being smashed to smithereens?

 

He closed his eyes and groaned. “Where am I?” he whispered, thinking twice about speaking at all when what felt like nails scraped the sensitive lining of his throat. “Wh-who are you?”

 

The woman sighed, her breath catching at the end, as if she were stopping herself from crying out. “Oh, Bruce,” she whispered.

 

It didn’t take a genius—or even a well man—to sense that she was sad. Had he said something wrong? Was it his fault?

 

“Don’t try to talk,” she insisted. “You must rest. I’ll tell you everything again—”

 

Again?

 

The woman brushed his forehead, her touch gentle, reminding him of someone.

 

“—once you’ve slept off the migraine. I promise.”

 

And not know where he was? Or what had happened to him? Or why he felt so helpless?

 

His panic took his breath away. “No—” he protested weakly.

 

But it was too late.

 

“Shhh, Bruce,” she breathed out, deciding his fate on his behalf.

 

Her name came to him and he held onto it, ready to speak. But the shroud of sleep had already taken hold, slowly and heavily, thickening his tongue and muddying his thoughts. He fought it, but it was no use.

 

The steady sound of the machines around him diminished into nothing, and all went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a lot of tweaking in this chapter - I added a scene that I'd initially written for this chapter but had ultimately deleted. Decided to put it back in this time around. :)

Selina slipped through the padlocked back door of the clinic unnoticed like she had countless of times years ago. Although it was easier to do than she remembered, it was far less comforting.

 

She shouldn't be here. Her safety depended upon it. Despite the Clean Slate, her face and fingerprints missing from any database, the police could be looking for her. She’d helped save Gotham once, but it wouldn’t matter, even if she’d saved it again. Nothing would negate her many sins.

 

Yet she’d agreed to help Leslie, hadn’t she? That was as close to a promise as she’d ever get. And after Bruce, she didn’t want to—or simply couldn’t—let someone else down.

 

A promise to Leslie would be the worst one of all to break.

 

Selina closed the back door with a firm push, locking it again before turning around. A sense of deja Vu washing over her, she carefully made her way through the darkened hallway past several closed rooms. Taking a sharp right turn, she made her way through the steady stream of people, who couldn’t _possibly_ all fit into Dr. Thompkins' clinic but had, somehow, managed to find shelter here.

 

Finding herself flattened against a wall, she paused to observe the waiting room that had burst at the seams. Besides the handful of those in medical uniform, conversing with the people and treating them, about a dozen families crowding together. Several teenagers leaned against the wall. Other individuals stood wherever they could.

 

However, it was the surprisingly large number of children that clouded Selina's desire to go back on her word to Leslie. She couldn't. It wasn’t the usual crowd Selina recalled ever coming to the clinic for help, but it made sense now why Leslie needed her. The experienced doctor had moved beyond assisting only criminals, that much was clear.

 

Selina's hair rose, the way it did when she inexplicably knew someone watched her. As she panned the room again, one particular child, a long-haired pixie of a girl, as Leslie would say, looked straight at Selina with curious, green eyes from her place on a woman's lap. Smudges of dirt trailed along the child's face and her hair revealed multiple tangles. A faded pink sweater and tattered pair of pants stretched tautly over her thin limbs, coming a bit short of covering her pale skin. Her legs dangled over her mother's lap, revealing unlaced tennis shoes and sockless feet on a bitter cold evening.

 

The little girl's appearance couldn't have been more distressing. Selina resisted the urge to demand answers from the woman who held the child. The woman looked no better, especially since fresh bruises covered her cheeks. And she, Selina, probably wouldn’t have cared as well for a child after Bane’s occupation of Gotham as this woman had. Clothing was still hard to come by, after thousands of homes and apartments had been ransacked. But the threats in the streets had been even worse, preventing Gotham’s citizens from venturing out to find much needed supplies.

 

She tried not to stare too long. The pair looked like they’d been through more than most. They didn't need the annoyance of prying eyes. Besides, she recognized all too well the pain reflected in the woman’s eyes.

 

Selina backed away from the sight before it pulled more of her heartstrings. Leslie had asked her for her assistance, but she wasn't a babysitter or the nurturing type, even if there were other children with the same ragged appearance as this little girl. Children who sat, alone and afraid, without a mother or father to hold them.

 

Hardening her heart, she did what she did best and turned her back on them.

 

For now.

 

She drew a tortured breath, cursing the way her heart had not hardened, after all. Resigned to her new fate, because she had no one to blame but herself for answering Leslie’s call in the first place, she returned to the dimly lit part of the clinic and opened the door with the sign, Employees Only, emblazoned on it. She locked the door behind her, and found a corner with an empty chair to sit on, right by the lockers.

 

Although Leslie may have stretched the truth when she said Selina could manage almost anything she'd ask her to do in the clinic, she did know CPR, basic first aid, and how to suture a simple wound. But it would be her ability to learn quickly which set her apart. That, and her skill to improvise.

 

After changing out of her dress and heels and into a casual outfit with boots, Selina twisted her hair into a bun and stuffed her bag and clothing in an empty locker, then left to find the doctor.

 

Within five minutes, she'd located her, smoothly coming alongside her before the doctor had the chance to notice her arrival.

 

"Selina. You came." The doctor's appreciative, warm glance irked Selina.

 

It stirred up her old haunts, the ache that had pressed into her chest yesterday.

 

"I told you I would," she said, a hint of snark bleeding through her veiled sadness.

 

"Walk with me," Leslie replied simply. "After I check on this patient, we'll go to my office to talk privately."

 

Selina waited, watching the woman speak to her patient as if he were the only one in the clinic waiting for her assistance. Leslie gave him her full attention as she addressed and treated the man's injury, never once losing her cool as the man explained how he received his injuries—fighting a neighbor a week ago for a bag of the neighbor's own food rations.

 

Leslie’s eyes were stern. "Times were hard, but I think an apology is in order, at the very least."

 

Selina smirked. Leslie hadn't changed a thing about her approach.

 

"I'm the one who got hurt," the man grumbled.

 

"You waited an awfully long time to get help," Leslie pointed out.

 

"This city has been a center of chaos!” the man protested loudly. “I couldn't leave my kids in the middle of this mess, and I wasn't about to go in the streets with them, either, and risk getting mugged or killed."

 

People around them watched the exchange, but their expressions were void of judgement.

 

And no wonder. What this man said was true. And they were all in the same predicament.

 

Even Selina, who'd forfeited her plane ticket for _this_.

 

"It has been most difficult," Leslie agreed softly, finishing up. "I understand, but I'm glad you made it here to see me today. If you'd waited any longer, the infection would have worsened. Please be sure to complete the five days of antibiotics. A nurse will be by in a minute to give you home care instructions for your wound."

 

As Leslie turned to leave, a nurse rushed up to her, expression urgent. Assuming the doctor would remain occupied for some time, Selina made her way to Leslie's office herself. She slipped into the office and took a seat, waiting on tenterhooks. Nothing about her decision to remain in Gotham made sense, at least it didn't until she illogically added Bruce to the equation.

 

It was like he was here, pulling her towards him.

 

But she was wishing for a dead man.

 

She'd visited his grave. What more did he want from her?

 

Selina crossed her legs, battling the indecision and the unrealistic emotions tumultuously upsetting her life when the door opened.

 

"It's good to see you, dear," Leslie said, smiling at her as she took a seat at her desk.

 

Yet the doctor’s perusal teemed of caution.

 

Selina couldn’t blame her. She had become so much more than the last time she'd visited the clinic. And not in a good way. Most of it was dangerous, with only a small part worth sharing with anyone. The most recent, however, was as fragile as she'd ever been.

 

"It's been awhile,” she hedged. “And you call me, out of the blue. Why now?"

 

"Like I told you on the phone, I think you could help me with a specific patient. It requires someone with...persistence and patience."

 

"And you thought I'd just come to your aid?" she all but snapped at her.

 

Leslie cocked a brow. "I don't know what I thought except that I need your help. And the patient has given his consent.”

 

She still wasn’t sure. It actually sounded like the patient _wasn’t_ agreeable. "You want me?" Selina huffed.

 

Leslie nodded. "I do."

 

"This is crazy," Selina hissed. "There are too many people here with too many problems!”

 

"Until emergency medical relief operates more smoothly in Gotham, I'm all these people have. The hospitals are full, Selina. People know this clinic has a reputation for housing criminals, but they've come to me, regardless.” Leslie paused, exhaling slowly. “I've know I’ve handed you a challenge, Selina, but I've never seen you ever refuse one without trying. Will you help me?"

 

Selina pursed her lips, refusing to answer immediately. Leslie was pushing her well beyond her limits, but....Leslie was right. She never backed away from a challenge.

 

She also owed a ghost a great debt.

 

Was she foolish to hope that what she did here at the clinic would make up for her betrayal?

 

"Are you saying the patient is difficult?" she asked.

 

"Oh, nothing like that. He’s recuperating from a severe concussion, but it’s his previous brain injury that causes me concern. Something I need to keep an eye one,” Leslie said quietly. “His inquires make it difficult for him—and me.”

 

Selina crossed her arms. “How?”

 

“For one, he blow to his head affected his short term memory as well as the long term. He’s forgotten significant events in his life from the past year. Worse, he can’t form new memories.” Leslie paused, her eyes narrowing on her, as if judging her reaction.

 

Selina refrained from giving her one. It wouldn’t do to bolster her hopes that she’d stay. “It sounds bad.”

 

“It is,” Leslie said softly. “He needs therapy every day, to regain what he’s lost. And even then, I can’t say for sure he’ll recuperate fully. I’ve created a series of questions to ask him several times a day, to see if he's making progress and jar his memory. I do this only after I catch him up to speed, making sure the therapy sessions are short before...”

 

“Before what?”

 

Leslie smiled sadly. “Before his brain resets itself, so to speak, and we have to start all over again. You’ll have to remove the post it notes around his bed, so he doesn't cheat."

 

It did sound like a challenge, but one that she could handle. "What type of questions?" It was the only question Selina could form to ask the doctor, save why, of all of Gotham, Leslie wanted her for this job.

 

"His name. The date. What he last ate. His nurse's name. I also set out three objects for him to study and then I take them away. After a few minutes, I’ll ask him what those three objects were.”

 

"Is it that bad?"

 

An uncharacteristic wince crossed Leslie’s face. "Yes, unfortunately. He hasn’t remembered during any of our therapy sessions. I also quiz him about the news.” She grabbed a pile of newspapers wedged in between the clipboards and handed them to Selina.

 

Selina rifled through them, absently reading a few of the headlines.

 

_Batman’s Replacement a God?_

_New Hero Sighted in the Sky_

 

"The top one is today's,” Leslie continued. “I haven’t given it to him yet because I clip the stories that could...upset him. I’m not sure he’s ready to learn about a man flying around in a cape these days. Another vigilante, for all we know.”

 

Selina lifted a brow. So this patient of hers was both disagreeable _and_ sensitive?

 

Leslie sighed. “I know it seems silly, but trust me. He doesn’t need more things to upset him. Let him keep the old papers I’ve given him. He reads then when he can keep his eyes open and doesn't have a migraine. He's also been a bit stubborn about getting out of bed. He has an injury to his side that is still healing. It's very painful for him to walk due to previous knee injuries that have been aggravated by recent activities. Until his knee braces arrive or he agrees to surgery, he should be fine with a walker to get around his room. Now that the catheters have been—"

 

“Oh, no.” Selina scowled. “I draw the line there.”

 

Leslie chuckled. "Don’t worry. You won't have to worry about those, only his intravenous fluids and antibiotics. The other catheters have been removed so he will be forced the bathroom, a simple trip that tires him out, so please be aware of that and keep the wheelchair handy. When you help him into a chair, be careful not to aggravate his side injury. It's still tender, but it would be good for him to be out of that bed for short intervals throughout the day. He needs to regain his strength.”

 

"Sounds like a man I could handle," Selina purred, oddly appreciating the task Leslie gave her.

 

It would be challenging, but no less entertaining. Not that she would tease the man. She couldn’t imagine not remembering details about her life, or forgetting what happened in Gotham. Sympathy pricked at her heart before she could stop it.

 

"Be easy on him, Selina," Leslie reprimanded. "He needs tough love, yes, but not yet. Please, try to be gentle, for now.”

 

“I’ll try,” she agreed.

 

“I expect no less from you.” Leslie smiled. “I believe you're the woman for the job. Just listen to my instructions. I think you’ll push his buttons and get him out of that bed for once.”

 

"Are you saying I'm heartless and manipulative?" Selina didn’t know whether to laugh or act hurt.

 

"I'm saying you’re special, Selina, and that's what it might take for him to listen. Beth, the nurse who has been assisting him, will have his food ready for you to bring to him, as well as his medication. He refused to take the medication, says he hates the way it clouds his thinking. But he paid for it earlier this evening, stubborn man. He suffered and couldn't answer any of my questions.” Leslie’s brow furrowed, her expression far away. “But I have to push him, and he needs this therapy,” she finished quietly.

 

“And that’s what you need me for? There’s no one else?”

 

“No one that I trust, and I'm pulled in too many directions, Selina, to spend all if my time with him, as much as I would like to.”

 

"Leslie..." If she committed, what was she getting herself into, exactly? “There _has_ to be someone else.”

 

Leslie shook her head. "His brooding scared away the rest of my help."

 

"Honestly?" Selina asked, exasperated. "I'm the last resort?"

 

"No, not at all. It's just...you're Selina." Leslie lifted her chin. "If anyone can make him listen, it would be you."

 

"Why?"

 

Leslie sighed and clasped her hands on her desk. "You were there with Batman, fighting Bane, weren't you?”

 

It wasn't a question. Selina narrowed her eyes. "Are you insane?” she denied. “How could that even be possible?"

 

"You’ve forgotten that I've known you since you were a little girl,” Leslie said. “They’ve shown amateur footage the past several days, Selina. That was you racing down the streets, helping him."

 

"What does any of this have to do with your patient?"

 

Leslie’s eyes flickered with emotion before softening on her. "You've changed."

 

She inwardly squirmed. "Not much."

 

"Something's different about you." Leslie paused and looked straight into her eyes. "Have you been crying?"

 

She started to lift a hand to wipe her eyes again out of habit, but suddenly stilled. "I went to a funeral."

 

"A funeral?"

 

"I paid my respects."

 

But she’d done more than. She’d spilled her heart.

 

Leslie stared at her for a long moment. "I see." She pushed her chair out from her desk and stood. "I think it's time you meet my patient, Thomas."

 

 

_________________________

 

 

 

"I swear, that man has no sense of humor. And he only mumbles," explained Beth, the petite, blonde haired—and very flighty—nurse who had all but abandoned Leslie's patient when she found out Selina was here to take over much of her job.

 

Beth handed her a tray with a plate of food, two medicine tablets, and a glass of water. "He's in the secluded wing of the clinic. Room 119, a dark, creepy room.”

 

“Creepy?” Selina repeated, amused.

 

“Dr. Thompkins instructed me to leave the lights off as much as possible, especially when I leave. She says he’s sensitive, thanks to his tendency for migraines, but I think his wonderful disposition,” Beth said sarcastically, “is the reason he's in that area all by himself.”

 

"Sounds charming,” she said dryly.

 

Beth glanced sideways at her. "You’ll do just fine, Miss…?”

 

"Call me Cat,” she supplied. “Short for Catherine."

 

"Cat, then. I think Thomas would be handsome if he was a bit more agreeable. Well, that and maybe if he lost some of the hair." Beth shrugged, her pert nose wrinkling as she continued to chatter. "I'm glad I don't have to try to get him to eat anymore, but I do feel badly that he can't remember where he is or what happened to him. Dr. Thompkins managed to get him to eat a few bites this afternoon. She spends so much time with him. I swear, she forgets there are other patients. It's a good thing you're here to help. Oh, and he does have a low-grade fever right now when I checked on him a few minutes ago, so he may be more disagreeable than usual. Good luck."

 

Beth flashed Selina an overly bright smile and turned on her heel.

 

"Thanks for the pep talk," Selina muttered, though she was actually relieved she could listen to herself think now that the nurse had left.

 

She tucked the newspapers Leslie had given her under the plate and hefted the tray in her hands. Walking past the waiting room, she ignored the commotion until she heard the voice of the news anchor. The words caught her attention, but it was the image of plane wreckage on the screen that stopped her in her tracks.

 

"Authorities report that International Flight 3447, which disappeared yesterday afternoon shortly after takeoff, has been found. Twenty-two passengers were found dead at the crash site. Dozens more are injured..."

 

Delivery of food and medication forgotten, Selina stared in stunned silence at the television screen in the corner of the overcrowded clinic. If she hadn’t heard it for herself, she would have never believed that the tragic, live footage was real.

 

Even after his death, Bruce Wayne had the gall to swoop in like she was a damsel in distress. He, her apparent knight in shining armor, had rescued her yet again.

 

As if the last time he saved her life—and all of Gotham—wasn't enough. As if he wasn't already noble or deserving of praises for his heroic, self-sacrificial ways. Bruce Wayne, a dead man, had had to go and do _this_.

 

Life constantly threw her curveballs in one way or another, but she always landed on her own two feet, despite the cost. This was supposed to be no different than any other time. She was resilient, self-relying, and adaptable and proud of it.

 

Who did he think he was, anyway, to be a dead man, yet toy so easily with her emotions? He'd made her care so much that she’d visited his grave. So much that she’d gone grocery shopping because she couldn't force herself to leave Gotham and leave his memory of him here, behind her, where she _should_ leave it. So much that she'd felt like a sideshow at the circus, with her pathetically swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks, as she’d pushed her cart down the aisles, aimlessly grocery shopping. If that wasn't enough, she'd forfeited her plane ticket to Paris because she couldn't ignore the request of her longtime friend, and primary physician of this crazy, incessantly loud, bursting-at-the-seams clinic.

 

She couldn't leave because he'd dared her to find the best within herself.

 

Had he lived, maybe...maybe she would have actually succeeded.

 

Selina's flight information rolled the bottom of the screen, and her stomach reeled. She covered her mouth with one hand and balanced the tray with the other, though it shook in spite of her best efforts. She passed the front desk, setting the tray on the counter. "Can you watch this for a moment?" she garbled out to the receptionist, not bothering to wait for a reply.

 

She fled the clinic, stumbling on her first step out the door and vomiting in the bushes. It seemed so wrong. Good people had been on that plane. Most of them injured, several killed, and she was alive. She was alive and a _thief_. Shifty and the betrayer of Batman at best. She wasn't good like most of the people on that plane. She stole excuses and time, fitting others’ needs to her own. The same thing she was doing to Dr. Leslie Tompkins.

 

Helping at the clinic was her excuse to stay in Gotham where she could feel close to Bruce, and she had neither the compassion of a Girl Scout nor the desire to be an errand girl, but here she was, Gotham still turned upside down as it regained its footing, her life put off-balance more than she liked.

 

A hand touched her shoulder. “Selina.”

 

At the welcome distraction, Selina wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and blinked away the tears pricking her eyes, telling herself that it was the plane crash that had sickened her. Not Wayne.

 

“Here, let me help you,” Leslie’s voice soothed.

 

Selina whipped her head around and pressed her lips into a pleasant smile, as if she hadn't just watched her life blink before her eyes.

 

"Leslie, I promise I'm not abandoning you, or your patient.” Selina allowed a smooth polish to her tone, covering her own fraying nerves. "I only needed some fresh air."

 

"Even if you did leave, I wouldn't blame you." Leslie wiped a weary hand across her forehead. "Even _I_ want to leave."

 

"You've reached your capacity." She held her tongue before the word 'overworked' slipped out, too, and added Leslie to her shortlist of people she admired.

 

"We're beyond it. They just keep pouring in, Selina."

 

Sighing, the doctor sank to a seat on a bench closest the door, ignoring the thin layer of snow covering it. Her face revealed new lines, marks of age or destruction, or both, thanks to Gotham’s penchant to be at the mercy of madmen.

 

Selina swallowed hard. "Where are they all coming from?"

 

"Everywhere. People who've been too afraid to step out and have remained in their homes, enduring illness and injury and fear, are just now stepping out. They’re leaving their homes, Selina. Even the tunnels." Leslie pursed her lips. "Bane's defeat came at a cost that involved more than the Batman’s sacrifice. Men and women gave up their lives for the good of others. For freedom. But it wasn’t just them, either, Selina. Boys. Mere _boys_. I have grieving and worried families weeping on my shoulders, many from the police force. The hospitals can't hold them all and the emergency aid just isn't enough. The people of Gotham...they don't want to leave. Not now, not after their hero had returned, giving up his life to save them in the end.”

 

Selina hardly knew what to say. Less than a year ago, she'd fall into old habits and reply with a snide remark, knowing that Leslie would let it slide off her back.

 

"I have a handful of patients who need long-term care, but I am running out of options,” Leslie added.

 

"They could be transferred."

 

"No.” Leslie's jaw clenched, reminding Selina of the doctor’s steely resolve in the past. "Maybe...maybe a few. But not all."

 

Selina looked away. "They're criminals, Leslie, on the wrong side of the law."

 

"These days, they're not all criminals,” Leslie said. "You know me. I get attached."

 

She glanced back at her. "You always were a softie."

 

"I need to return to work." Leslie stood and regarded her thoughtfully. "Something's different about you. It wasn't just that you attended a funeral."

 

"It's nothing," she said breathlessly. "Maybe the whole Good Samaritan thing is getting to me."

 

"It's not so bad." Leslie squeezed her arm, a warm and affectionate light in her eyes. "I am surprised you came."

 

"When I leave again,” she said slowly, “it'll be for good. I won't be coming back."

 

"I know." Leslie began to make her way to the entrance, but smiled over her shoulder. "Don't forget my patient."

 

"My plane crashed," Selina admitted, stopping the doctor in her tracks.

 

"What?" Leslie frowned.

 

"My plane.” She found herself almost lost for words, the events of the past few days suddenly overwhelming her. “The flight I had booked, didn’t make it. The plane crashed."

 

Leslie’s eyes flickered in horror. "Oh, Selina...yet somehow, you're here."

 

"I didn't stay because of you." On the defensive, Selina crossed her arms and shifted her body away from the doctor.

 

"That doesn't surprise me at all. You do things for your own reason," Leslie said. "Why _did_ you stay?"

 

"Someone...someone said there was more to me. I'm not sure there is. I...I don't know if he was right."

 

"Do you want to try?"

 

_For him?_

 

She shook her head. "I don't know."

 

What else could she say? That she was following, aimlessly, in the footsteps of a ghost?

 

"Selina, be proud of who you are,” Leslie said softly. “You've made a difference in people's lives, including the ones here the past few years."

 

Selina looked sharply at her.

 

"Yes, I always had a feeling the anonymous donations were from you," Leslie said. "I believe that you want to change, otherwise you wouldn't have even showed. Give this a chance. I think you'll be surprised at what's in store."

 

With that, Leslie walked back inside, bound to try to make a difference in this haunted city. For the first time in the fifteen years that Selina has known her, she understood the passion behind the doctor's diligent, thankless work in the clinic.

 

The air, although chilling to the bone, had breathed new life into her body. Had she stayed to repay a friend or nurse her own wounds? Had she been waiting for a miracle? It was far from the miracle she'd wanted, not that she wasn't grateful. If this was the miracle, was it a sign that she should leave?

 

Shaking her head and rueing the day she’d ever laid eyes on _who knew he could wield a bow and arrow so well_ Bruce Wayne, Selina made her way into the clinic. She first stopped at a sink behind the same counter where she'd abandoned the tray, and washed her hands. After which, she returned to the tray and lifted the lid from the plate of food, double-checking that it was the same one.

 

Lumpy mashed potatoes and a small portion of roast beef, a few carrots on the side that hardly looked cooked. She eyed the unappetizing fare, pitying the poor soul who would have to eat it. Sighing, she hefted the tray in her hands and walked towards the clinic's secluded wing.

 

Tonight would be the only night she'd help out at the clinic. She wasn't cut out for it, and she wasn't going to destroy herself by clinging to a dead guy. By the next day, she'd be far removed from all of reminders and any distractions getting in the way of her plan to forge a new life for herself. She'd do what she'd wanted to do in the first place.

 

Leave Gotham in the dust.

 

Most importantly, she'd be free from Wayne.

 

She knocked on Room 119 out of faked politeness. When the patient said nothing, she turned the knob and entered, hardly glancing at the man huddled under his blanket. An arm was draped over his face, a newspaper crumpled loosely in his hand. His chest rose and fell at even intervals, indicating he'd fallen asleep in the short time since Beth checked on him. The long ponytail covering his shoulder hung limply.

 

She wrinkled her nose. His hair looked like it hadn't been washed for days. Great. The man probably needed a shower, but had refused to cooperate with that, too. It would probably be up to her to make sure he got one.

 

She tried to get a better look at him, but the shadows gave away nothing of his features, except part of his face that was covered with hair.

 

"Hello, I'm Catherine. You can call me Cat for short," she chirped, knowing if he was as irritable as Beth said he was, being overly friendly yet assertive may push him to listen, if only to get her out of his hair.

 

Surprisingly, he stirred, his body shifting underneath the white sheet covering him. She set the tray down on the counter on the other side of the room, giving him time to collect himself. From the corner of her eyes, she saw the man's hand clench around the papers. His ragged, shallow breaths reminded her that he was in pain, from his own pig-headed refusal to take the medication his doctor offered, but still, it was her duty now to help him. The wrapper came easily off of the straw, and she plopped the straw into the cup of water. She tucked the newspaper under her arm and picked up the tray. All efficiently, all very insignificant things, and shouldn't she want to help someone like this for once in her life?

 

She unclenched her teeth and turned, ready to set the tray on the man's table beside him with whatever grace she could muster. "It's time for your medicine,” she announced in a strong, hearty voice, not the smooth one she’d use to lure a man. “And I'm not like those other girls around here, including Nurse Beth, so don't play games with me. Then we'll work on that memory of yours, Mister—"

 

"That's a brazen name, for a cat burglar."

 

The lazy voice shook her violently, ruthlessly tossing her heart like a storm hurls the ocean’s mighty waves.

 

It couldn't be.

 

She lifted her gaze to meet the fever-bright, hazel eyes of the man who'd stolen far more from her than she'd stolen from him, as her heart had never been the same since the day his arrow had missed her by a dangerous, narrow margin.

 

Something crashed at her feet.

 

It was then that she knew.

 

It wasn't a languishing echo of what had been. It wasn't her imagination crouching and waiting for the right moment to attack.

 

Bruce Wayne was alive, and she'd just dropped his tray.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read the original, you'll probably notice that I moved a scene from Chapter Two to include here, where I felt it was more appropriate. I've also made the usual edits to narrative and dialogue. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)

Wayne, the man she’d grieved—was grieving—was _alive_.

 

She was afraid to blink. Afraid he’d disappear if she did.

 

Because no one could’ve survived that blast.

 

No one.

 

Not even him.

 

The words she wanted to say lodged painfully in her throat as she stared at this apparition.

 

Not just words, but questions. That blast was—

 

Her thoughts suddenly stumbled in her disbelief. Beyond _nuclear_ , she couldn’t even describe the cloud she’d seen rising in the distance over the water. Nor could she describe the bittern sadness she’d felt in her heart knowing that a man had sacrificed everything for the people of Gotham. For _her_.

 

No one could’ve survived that bomb. No one. Not even Batman.

 

"Did you just drop my food?" Bruce Wayne, the not-dead variety, asked with a high arch to his brow.

 

"You weren't going to eat it anyway, so I hear," Selina found herself saying, if for nothing else but to prevent herself from raging at him because he’d kept this from her.

 

As if she had a right to know. A right to be considered worthy enough to know. Or the right to a place in the Batman’s fold.

 

Bruce frowned, his furrowed brow aging him.

 

Or was it the pain she could see etched in his features, drawing lines across his forehead, that added years?

 

She swallowed hard, but the lump remained lodged there, unforgiving and heavy.

 

“I'm sort of hungry now,” he said, frown deepening.

 

How could he even think of eating now?

 

She willed her heart to slow down. "You're dead."

 

"I am very much aware of the fact that I am alive."

 

"No. You said there was no autopilot. You died." Selina stepped over the splattered meal, tension creeping fast into her shoulders. "Is this some sort of sick joke?"

 

"No autopilot?" Bruce blinked at her. "Huh."

 

She exhaled a short puff of air in disbelief. "You're joking. You don't remember that?"

 

"Add that to the list of things." Bruce waved an arm over the post it notes, a lazy gesture that made him seem even more vulnerable.

 

And here she was, in a position to help him, to make up for all she’d done to him.

 

Selina picked up a few of the notes, scanning Leslie's handwritten reminders which listed everything from where he was, to information about his concussive injuries and stab wound, to recent events, including Batman's sacrificial act. Most importantly was the one informing "Thomas" that his short term memory was impaired.

 

"So you stayed." The warm regard in his voice pulled her gaze from the notes.

 

He stared at her, his soft gaze dousing the fire that stirred within her.

 

Damn him for disarming her again. She couldn't get angry at him, not now, not yet.

 

"You don't remember much, do you?" The concern for him tasted bitter in her mouth.

 

He absently toyed with one of the remaining notes. "Guess not. How did you know I was here?"

 

"I didn't. Dr. Thompkins called me. She...she realized I was the one on the Batpod, helping Batman."

 

Which meant that Leslie knew Bruce's secret and watched over him the past few days, hardly leaving his side, indicating that Leslie knew she couldn’t jeopardize his secret.

 

But Bruce didn’t bat an eye at that inference, but remained focused on her.

 

"You helped me?" he asked in an interested, placid tone, cultured by his years of mask-wearing, she was sure. "That explains this note, at least."

 

He held it out to her, eyes glazing with fever. She grasped it gently from him, regretting her ridiculous slip of hand earlier. She'd have to request another tray with food, water, and medication right away.

 

But first…

 

"'A friend will be here soon to help you remember the past few days,'" he murmured, reading the note aloud.

 

"Dr. Thompkins knows about you?" she asked for his sake, not hers, since the doctor had already informed her that she did.

 

"I would think so." He shrugged. "I’m not that surprised she figured it out. I've known her since I was a boy."

 

She lifted her chin, miffed. "Leslie should've told me outright. She called me yesterday, right before I planned to leave."

 

Selina pressed her lips tightly together before she’d complete the thought, which would no doubt provoke more questions from Bruce. Questions she wasn’t in the mood to answer right now.

 

She’d been incredibly close to ignoring Leslie's call. She couldn’t think beyond that. Or of the what ifs of her situation.

 

Not with Bruce staring at her like she had come to save _him_.

 

"Would you have come, had she told you it was me she needed help with?" he asked.

 

Selina looked at him with more honesty as she'd looked at anyone in a long time. Even Leslie. "Yes."

 

Bruce's mouth curved into a slight smile, a brilliance striking against the sunken look of his face and the accumulated injuries of his body. And oh, how it made her want to see him fully golden, none of this shadowing him, bruises and fatigue erased from his features.

 

But he was oblivious, and made light of the worse case scenario Selina never even thought of had Batman survived.

 

A smug light shone in his eyes. “That makes me...lucky."

 

"You've gotten yourself in quite the mess," she said hoarsely.

 

"I've been in worse messes, believe me.”

 

She fought the urge to glare at him and the way he spoke, as if this—this surviving one of the most horrific weapons known to mankind—bore no significance.

 

"Not remembering that Batman saved Gotham from a bomb ranks pretty high in my book." It was cruel, but Selina had to know for herself. "But so does flying out into the distance—faking your own death, with a mushroom cloud—after telling us that there was no auto-pilot. Oh, not to mention that there was that certain female board member who betrayed you."

 

"Right." His brow furrowed. "What?"

 

_How could he not remember?_

 

Her heart twisted with remorse. In the past, she'd never think twice about taking advantage of a situation like this. But now, as he looked at her like she hung the moon and the stars and even the sun she realized that his recovery would be nothing like she could’ve ever imagined.

 

The opportunity faded.

 

Her pounding heart threatened to upend her emotional control, every second she was in his presence compounding the problem.

 

She couldn't stay here. She needed only a minute. "I'm going to get more food for you, and medicine, okay....Thomas?" Selina laid his notes on his tray. She grabbed a blank note and one and began to write, not meeting his eyes. "Meanwhile, keep reading these. Here's a new one."

 

She held it out to him. Bruce hesitated, but took the note. He began reading with a lightheartedness that would’ve reminded her of his playboy persona except she heard something else in his voice. Something else that Selina would stay to hear again.

 

"'Your new nurse, Cat, abandoned her job as a thief to help you regain your memory. Cooperate, or she may break out her claws.'" He looked up at her, amusement faint in his eyes and the strain of pain, poison, and fatigue a million times more prominent, batting at his almost-inhuman strength.

 

He didn't look like the Bruce Wayne the world knew. The same chiseled lines of his cheeks and jaw were still there, but were now gaunt. The hair, black and long, thick and yes, a bit greasy, didn't bother her. It served a purpose to protect him and she couldn't argue with that. His goatee reminded her of their first meeting, when she'd been cruel and stupid and selfish, and he’d scared the devil out of her. She'd never admitted that to herself, and now it seemed only right for her to acknowledge that even broken, this man before her had risen beyond it all.

 

She'd kicked his cane, and he'd followed her, not missing a single, dancing step.

 

She'd stolen his pearls, and he’d effortlessly reclaimed them, forgoing any charge and charming her right back into his life.

 

Unnerved by his boyish quips, she'd shamelessly used her feminine wiles to best him again, speeding away, but he’d paid no heed.

 

She'd handed him over to his likely death, and he'd come searching for her like she'd taken him on a picnic and shared her handmade pie with him, wine included, and not to some brutal betrayal. Broken back, no extra charge.

 

"Miss Kyle?"

 

There it was—the confusion. Out of necessity, she broke from her reverie and watched the hero of Gotham furrow his brow once again and succumb to the curse of too many beatings to the skull, too much scarring on the brain, and too much sacrificing of his body.

 

His breath shortened, warning her of his panic. "Where are we? What—”

 

She quietly pressed two fingers to his lips, the touch silencing him. "Shhh. Everything is okay, Bruce."

 

Her words were lost on him. His breath quickened, the sweat along his brow gleamed. Another day and in another world, perhaps it could've been the end of a fair race and a prize worthy of the persevering winner. Today, it could only be a bitter reward for someone who saved a city, for nothing about his hesitation as he took in his surroundings like he hadn't been sitting in this very room for five days was fair. She picked up his notes and pressed them into his hand, the one connected to antibiotics and poison-flushing fluids. His hands clutched hers for a tender, fleeting moment as she transferred the papers.

 

So this was what it felt like to lose pieces of yourself to someone else, and never want them back.

 

He watched her, the hope in his eyes raw and real and she could hardly stand to know that the emotion was meant for her. "Read these. You'll catch up in no time. I'll be back to replace your dinner."

 

Confusion settled on his face even more. "Is that...is that my food on the floor?"

 

"Just a little spill," she said, not meeting his eyes. "Don't worry about it, handsome. And stay in your bed until I get back."

 

She left and turned the corner, hovering outside his door so he wouldn't be alone. She pulled her phone from her pocket and texted a message to Leslie, telling her what they needed. She left him so he could privately catch up to his reality. She stayed far away because she couldn't hold back the torrent barring its teeth and sinking its fangs. Her tears no longer were soft, tender breaths of her stunted, fragile grief. They were guilt ridden, wicked strokes of a well-sharpened knife, but she refused to let them destroy her.

 

She’d made a promise to Leslie, and she aimed to keep it.

 

She couldn't return to Bruce looking ragged and beaten, begging more questions when he had enough of his own already. She braced herself against the wall, sinking down to the the floor and deeper into the pain that her choices had brought both to the Prince of Gotham and to her, the woman who would do absolutely anything to change the past.

 

____________________

 

 

Bruce read the notes over and over, at least a dozen times each. Sometimes silently, other times out loud to his empty room.

 

The one explaining that _his longtime employee has not been notified due to your wishes_ made his heart ache, but as he pieced together his thoughts, he understood it was for the best. He could not possibly ask Leslie to bring Alfred into this.

 

Bruce held on to the one Selina wrote like a kid clutching candy. She was here, and he had no idea why. She was here, and he had no idea why it thrilled him so much.

 

He knew he was causing people trouble, and it humbled him. He was a burden to Leslie, and now Selina, and he didn't want to be. He didn't want to be at the clinic, he didn't want to be a stranger to Alfred, but he was a stranger even to himself and there was no way that he could ever return like this.

 

He ignored the sound of footsteps entering the room. The person cleaning the mess off the floor. The fresh tray that was placed on his table..

 

He had to remember. He grabbed one of the newspapers, tracing the headline with his fingertips. He'd saved Gotham, and didn't even know how he'd done any of it.

 

Selina sighed. "Can you come up for air for a second?"

 

He grunted a reply. The headline screamed in his head and over Selina as she bothered him again.

 

"It's medication time. Let's put this away." Selina gripped the edge of the newspaper, the seductive arch of her eyebrows and piercing eyes a temptation he had to deny.

 

He clutched the paper, unwilling to let go. His answer were here. At least...some of them.

 

"Bruce, it'll be here on your table,” she said softly, “when we work to get your memory back with therapy."

 

He blinked at her, just now noticing that her eyes were red. Swollen, even. She’d been crying.

 

He had a sinking feeling he was the cause of it.

 

Maybe he could ask her enough questions to get her mind off of it, whatever it was. "How did I get my knife wound?"

 

"Take these two pills and I'll tell you." She tugged at the paper, but he held it fast. "Let go."

 

"That's not fair."

 

"I don't play by the rules." She stared at him until he relinquished the paper, then handed him pills and water.

 

He took the pills with a sigh, and did as he was told. "How?"

 

She waited until he’d finished the entire glass of water. "It's pretty big. You sure you can handle it? You're looking a bit worn around the edges right now."

 

"Selina..."

 

"If it is overwhelming, then I'll know better the next time you ask me and I won't tell you or maybe I'll make up something just for kicks. My teachers enjoyed my creative writing stories back in the day."

 

He grabbed the notepad and pencil. "Write it down for me? I'll keep it close."

 

It surprised him when she did as he asked, as if writing notes down for an amnesiac didn’t bother her.

 

But when he read it, the knowledge wasn't enlightening. It simply took him a full minute to recover.

 

Selina sat quietly, eyes latched onto him like she actually was his nurse.

 

"I told you this?" The migraine he saw coming a mile away slammed behind his eyes and forehead. Using one hand to knead the pain away, he closed his eyes, nothing coming to mind that the woman who'd used him just as much as he'd used her betrayed him. He hadn't seen that coming at all. But it did explain why he hadn't given Miranda another thought since he'd read the first notes.

 

He'd given Selina almost all of them, instead.

 

"In so many words." Selina's hand pressed gently on his arm. "Bruce, your food is here."

 

"Not hungry."

 

"Not acceptable."

 

He ignored her. He had better things to do than to eat. For God’s sakes, he’d just learned that Bane had been defeated while he’d been out of it.

 

But that wasn’t right, either.

 

"Ra's al Ghul's daughter," he muttered.

 

Maybe if he repeated every note out loud, the process would solidify it in his mind.

 

"Who is Ra's al Ghul?" Selina asked.

 

"Was."

 

"A dead man, then."

 

Who had stayed alive through some twisted legacy.

 

"He was my teacher.” He paused, bitter gratitude and sadness all rolled into one. “My mentor,” he corrected quietly.

 

"You sure know how to pick them."

 

He snorted, resorting to squinting through the haze of discomfort. "He picked me...right out of the Bhutanese prison that was my home. I became his greatest student...in martial arts, theatricality, intimidation...so he said. He was the leader of the League of Shadows, a secret society…” he whispered, unable to speak any louder through the pain. “Whose goal was to...purge the world of...corruption."

 

Selina stared at him, a cool mask of indifference slipping over her face, no doubt to cover her surprise. But it wasn’t quick enough.

 

As he had once before, he could see right through her.

 

"Bruce Wayne, playboy billionaire, ex-prisoner?" Her elegant and smooth voice washed over him, a comfort, if briefly. "Prized student of a veritable madman?"

 

He nodded and opened his mouth to answer her, not realizing Selina had put a spoonful of food onto his tongue until it was too late. He grimaced, but obediently chewed the small portion.

 

As much as he didn’t want to bother with the food, he had to eat something if he was going to get any better.

 

"And you were a part of this society?"

 

He swallowed. "To fight...injustice." The migraine-induced, ragged voice had returned but Bruce continued, the hope that knowing a little more about him would influence her to stay, or at least intrigue her enough to come back if- and when- she left. "Until I learned...that they intended...to destroy Gotham...and they almost did with a toxin."

 

Before he finished Selina deftly placed another bite in his mouth. "That was sneaky," he mumbled through his food.

 

"Maybe you prefer to feed yourself?" She held out the plate and fork.

To appease her and his growling stomach, which earned him a smug look from Selina, he did feed himself. Half of the food, but then he couldn't manage chewing any longer.

 

Or aggravating his already nauseated stomach.

 

"No more," he hoarsely whispered.

 

He could barely make her form out before him, caught in a heavy, mind-boggling and painful vise.

 

"Migraine?" Selina asked as she pressed the button to recline his bed.

 

He affirmed her question with silence, poorly attempting to prepare his mind and body against the inevitable suffering. His eyes closed, and one hand on his head, the other twisting the covers, he could do nothing to prevent his fate.

Darkness pressed all around him, broken only by the rustle of Selina beside him. She fluffed the pillow under his neck, and then after her hand brushed his hair away from his face, covered his hand with hers.

 

But the comforting warmth of her warm hand soon faded as he succumbed to the pressure in his head.

 

____________________

 

Selina immediately took action, as Bruce was oblivious to his need for additional medication, or to any other medical attention he required.

 

She informed Leslie of Bruce's condition with a text and waited with bated breath. Bruce's agony heightened, reaching an unexpected and unacceptable level.

 

With each second that went by, Bruce dug his fingers into his skull like he was fighting to stay alive. When shudder volleyed and shattered the stillness of his body, her heart palpitated in fear before she could stop it.

 

The moan that escaped his mouth shocked her, and the sound of a guttural gagging, from a person helplessly on his back, alerted her. With her quick reflexes, she grabbed the small open trash can beside his bed, nestling it between her thigh and the bed so her hands were free to lift his neck, and then his off his pillow. She'd only managed to move his head an inch before she freed one of her arms to pull the can close.

 

He gagged again, and she turned his head in the nick of time.

 

She stood there, appalled that it had come to this for him and sickened by her own ignorance.

 

Losing track of time was simple—his nausea was endless, and just when she thought the worst had passed, the dry heaves came.

 

Leslie rushed through the door, her expression never changing as she took in the situation and adjusted Bruce's medication. She came beside Selina, and gently grasped the can from her.

 

Selina slipped her other hand around Bruce’s head, anchoring him further. It wasn't for another full minute before either woman saw any improvement.

 

A shudder shook Bruce's body a final time. He coughed, oblivious to the hands guiding his head back to the pillow and the cloth wiping the sweat and residue from his face.

 

Selina set down the cloth, feeling a stress far different from anything she'd ever experienced. She slumped in the chair beside him, finding Bruce's limp hand and curling her own around it.

 

Leslie went over his vitals quietly, speaking not yet a word to Selina, so focused was she on Bruce. Selina wondered why Leslie, who didn't trust her enough to tell her Bruce was here, suddenly allowed her the courtesy of a private visit, which thereby included the immediate caring for him. She'd have to be pried away from his side with a crowbar, now that she'd seen the horrific result of her actions. Selina stroked Bruce's hand, relieved when the tension fell off his shoulders and his arm fell onto his lap. Bruce sighed, almost instantaneously falling asleep.

 

"Thank God." Selina expelled a breath. A magnanimous weight lifted as the man could finally slumber without the further struggle of memory loss and physical pain.

 

"I gave him a sedative. He'll be out for most of the night," Leslie said quietly. "This was a worse episode than the others."

 

"Has he thrown up like that before?"

 

"Some, but nothing quite like that." The doctor pursed her lips. "They're worsening, Selina."

 

"Isn't there anything else you can do for him?"

 

"I've run the tests that I can. We reduced the swelling the first few days, you can see the bald spot under his wig where we shaved a small area of his hair. He needs a more thorough examination of his brain but I’m afraid…” Leslie’s eyes dropped in defeat. “That I can’t give him the help he needs here at the clinic, Selina.”

 

"And his memory?"

 

"I'd like him to see a trauma specialist."

 

"Who?"

 

"Preferably one who can come to here for the initial consultation, but I haven't found anyone willing to come to Gotham yet, and I can't risk taking Bruce to the other hospitals and his identity being discovered."

 

Just what she’d thought. "And if you can't find one who would come here?"

 

Leslie paused. "He'll have to travel."

 

Move Bruce? Selina wasn’t sure that would be the best thing. What if his conditioned worsened? And, not only that, how _would_ they protect his identity? "That'd be close to impossible."

 

"It won't be easy, you're right. That he refuses to tell Alfred makes the situation even more precarious. I have no one to take my place at the clinic during an extended absence."

 

Selina wasn’t sure she’d heard her right. "Wayne’s butler doesn’t even know he’s alive?’

 

“No,” Leslie said softly.

 

“Why won't he let his butler know what happened?"

 

"My guess is that Bruce doesn't want Alfred to feel guilty for what happened to him. They had words before Bane took control of the city. Alfred left because he didn't want to enable Bruce. He refused to see Bruce's death wish come to fruition—"

 

Death wish?

 

Why would Wayne have a death wish?

 

If he had one, it would explain everything.

 

Selina asked slowly, "What do you mean?"

 

"A lot went down eight years ago, and the more recent years in seclusion took its toll on him." Leslie paused, not answering Selina's question outright. "Bruce was determined to fight Bane in the shape he was in. Alfred only saw a pitiful ending to the man he'd loved like a son since birth, and he tried to stop Bruce the only way he could—by leaving."

 

"Why did you call me?" Selina ventured. "For all you knew, I'd use him and walk away."

 

"The day I first tried to get a hold of you, he'd awakened for a second time and said your name. He said it with such passion and urgency, I had to try to find you. I don't know how else to explain it."

 

"So you went on the word of an amnesiac?" she asked sarcastically.

 

"No, not exactly. Earlier that morning, I figured out that it was you who'd helped him, and...and I took a chance because I think you'll be able to help him piece together what happened and the would maybe prod his memory." Leslie breathed deeply. "I'll be honest, Selina. I didn't trust you at first, even when I talked with you in my office, and I wasn't about to let you see him alone the first time. I watched you from a distance and followed you outside. Call it intuition, if you will, and the way you wore your emotions on your sleeve."

 

"How do you know I won't use him now?"

 

"We're having this conversation, aren't we? I think it more likely that either you would have hightailed it out of here the instant you saw him or remain here with him and see the job through. Now that I've watched you helping him, I see my instincts were correct."

 

"And what are those?" Selina challenged quietly.

 

"You care for him," Leslie said simply. "If you were going to hurt him, you wouldn't be holding his hand like you are now."

 

Selina looked down.

 

Leslie was right, and somehow...she’d forgotten it herself. "It doesn't mean I'm not going to hurt him eventually,” she snapped in frustration that she could do nothing to help Bruce _but_ hold his hand.

 

She wasn’t a doctor. Or a girlfriend. Or a good woman on the straight and down.

 

Leslie’s eyes flickered with challenge. "I'll chance that, because I'd do anything for him to regain his memory, Selina. Besides, he agreed for me to bring you here—over Alfred."

 

"But each time he wakes up and sees me, he's forgotten. He forgets he's hurt, he forgets he is here...he can't even remember—" Selina broke away from Bruce's touch, her hand tremulous and heart fragile.

 

"What can't he remember?" Leslie asked gently.

 

Leslie had been nothing short of a mother to Selina when she was a child, abused and practically abandoned. She'd been kind, gracious, giving- but having seen all of those attributes didn't make it any easier for Selina to open up about her feelings. Secreting them away seemed easier—and safer.

 

"Nothing," she whispered, turning to look out the window.

 

"Are you going to stay, then?"

 

"You've already decided for me," she snorted. "Throwing me into all of this like you did."

 

"If I’d told you everything from the beginning, I couldn't take that chance that it’d scare you away, from giving this a chance."

 

Selina firmed her jaw. That Leslie could see right through her still, after all these years, dumbfounded her.

 

Maybe she hadn’t succeeded keeping people at arm’s length as much as she’d thought.

 

"You tell me now, Selina,” Leslie ordered. “So I can find someone else to replace you. I don't have time to waste— _he_ doesn't. I can't do this by myself, and I know Bruce wouldn't want me to abandon the people of Gotham for his sake, not after all he's done, giving them renewed hope for themselves and for their city."

 

Leslie was right, but Selina lifted her chin in defiance. How dare anyone try to keep her chained to this damn city. It had destroyed enough of her. "If he wants to work through this alone,” she spat. “Then send him to a hospital far away until you can help him."

 

Leslie’s eyes hardened. "Maybe I was wrong about you, but I still think there's more to you—”

 

"Stop!" she cried, her heart barreling against her chest. "Please, don't say anymore."

 

"Selina—”

 

"You don't understand!"

 

Leslie sucked in breath, hurt rising on her face. "I do understand. You forget I've been around people much like you for over three decades, people who've fought to stay alive, so they put their emotions on a short leash or pretend they don't have any. You're scared. You want to stay, but you care too much for him to get hurt."

 

Everything she said made sense, but it didn’t mean she had to stay and fight for Gotham—or for Bruce—like Leslie did.

 

She released Bruce’s hand and took a step back. "I shouldn't have come."

 

She shouldn’t have tried to act like a compassionate human being in the first place.

 

"But you did,” Leslie said. “And, deep down, you must know why."

 

Selina shook her head. "He's...he's...too vulnerable for me, too easy for me to hurt."

 

"His condition has made him vulnerable, yes, but Bruce is strong. Each time that I break it to him that he's stuck here with me, it rolls off his shoulders. He's taking it in stride, Selina."

 

"I've had to tell him twice."

 

Leslie looked at her in surprise. "How did he do?"

 

"Like you said." Selina glanced down at Bruce, his expression the picture of relaxation. She almost couldn’t believe that only minutes ago, he’d been sick, yoked with this painful burden he didn’t ask for. "He accepts it and does the best he can to fit the broken pieces back together."

 

"He can do this, Selina," Leslie assured her..

 

"He can, maybe. But, me? I don't know how to...how I ..."

 

"How you can continue to explain to the man, who saved all of Gotham with his theatrics, skills, body, and mind, that he forgets every twenty minutes where he is? That he forgets that he came to my clinic, wet as a dog from swimming in the bay to escape the bomb? That he’d been stabbed? That Bane is dead? That he is dead to the world by his own wishes?"

 

Selina took a hesitant step towards Bruce. If Leslie knew how deeply she’d hurt him, she would probably change her mind in a heartbeat.

 

Bane's brutal blows on the night she'd betrayed Bruce could have very well set him up for the humbling, current condition he was in.

 

"No," she said with an edge to her voice. "I don't know how I can watch him realize his mind is in pieces over and over again. I don't know if I can watch him suffer like this.”

 

Broken by this unfathomable pain in his head.

 

Broken in nearly every way except for his spirit.

 

And know that it was all her _fault_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for my (unintended and unpredictable) absence. If the content of this chapter seems a bit...random...I'm sorry. Sort of where my mind's been lately, making it hard for me to focus the way I need to in order to write. 
> 
> The chapter is quite different from the original. I knew where I was taking it, but I ended up adding about 4K! Oops! But at least you get far more character development than I'd had before. There will be a slight discrepenacy between this chapter and the next, if you happen to read this on fanfiction.net, because I'm moving the last scene of the original to Chapter Five. This one ended up way too long to include it. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it. I'll try to have another chapter up soon. :) All errors are mine.

 

Bruce heard it before he opened his eyes, as he awakened with a punctuated breath. A light and lilting hum, an indistinguishable tune, nudging him out of a deep sleep and the same, endless darkness that had surrounded him for nearly a decade.

 

Wanting more of the lifeline, he gasped his second breath like drowned man breaking through the water, the warbling notes beckoning him to lift his head above the surface and listen. Little by little, the song became clearer and the nightmares waned, replaced by exhaustion set deep in his bones, as if the nightmares themselves had momentarily blocked the fatigue. As if...he should be grateful that his new pain had replaced his mental anguish.

 

The exhaustion was nothing he hadn't endured before, but the nightmares—illusions, if one could call them that—had been different. They’d been of death and betrayal—and downright horrifying. Capable of conjuring the familiar feelings of doubt and guilt that had oppressed him into hiding in the first. But with rising stubbornness and falling back on years of training, he pushed the fog of sleep aside, not that it helped to lessen the migraine climbing his skull. Or lessen the confusion he felt being in an unfamiliar place. Or vanquish the image of a masked man bent on evil, lurking in his mind.

 

Or, he thought with a ragged sigh, stop the recurring presence of a shadowed woman. A woman who would lure him with her sultry voice, her breath grazing his ear with biting words, accompanied by a sharp pain in his side that forced a cry from his lips and thoughts to do her bidding.

 

His breath caught sharply then, his senses overwhelmed by the vivid and crushing state of his memories. If they even were memories. He wasn’t sure he could trust himself, as heavy as his head felt, and the mixture of images haunting. They had been real enough to touch but logically they couldn’t be. He’d witnessed them, yes, but he had been burdened with deja Vu. He’d first assumed that he was reliving them. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? How could he relive them if he didn’t remember them ever happening in the first place?

 

The thoughts tumbled, rolling in his head in an endless circle. Realizing it was futile to try and make sense of any of them, he shifted his head until his cheek pressed against something soft. A pillow. _His_ pillow. A stiff fabric with a distinct scent. Disinfectant, he realized belatedly. Or a strong detergent.

 

What was this place? A hospital? A laboratory?

 

With his luck it would be another jail cell.

 

Whatever it was, and wherever he was, it was cool and impersonal, the sheer starkness of his surroundings pressing in until he felt like like he was suffocating. If he'd been bleeding out and onto the floor as the Batman, he would have preferred it. He would have welcomed it. Anything was better than than these reminders that he was as emotionally stunted as any psychiatrist would diagnose him to be, if he came to their office as the orphan Bruce Wayne-turned-vigilante.

 

Alfred and Lucius had hinted the same once or twice through the years. _Live and embrace life instead of letting it choke you, Bruce._ They’d never actually told him that in those exact words, but they’d never had to. He’d simply seen it on their faces.

 

But despite the way he felt, which was far from what his alter ego would ever admit to feeling, he didn’t think he was bleeding out. Batman always lashed out against his pain and suffering with fierce determination and all the brute strength he could muster, his independence another weapon.

 

Strangely enough, all he wanted to do was sink, weightlessly and without a care, into this bed. Forget about the world around him, about right and wrong. An anti-humanitarian proposition, far from anything the Batman, a man with no limits, would ever agree to.

 

No. _Bruce Wayne_ wanted the comfort of being alone. But even _that_ wasn’t true. He wanted a comforting hand on his shoulder. The warmth of his father’s embrace.

 

Of Alfred’s.

 

Emotion clogged his throat as he thought of him, his father, in every sense of the word. But he couldn’t dwell on the past. Not even if he tried. The pounding in his head persisted, shattering whatever shred was left of his concentration. The humming continued, chipping away at his defenses, too.

 

Was this woman his nurse? She was beautiful. At least he thought she would be, given her sweet tune, if he could peel his eyes open to see and confirm it for himself. But the ache in his body prevented him from doing anything but groan, a wretched sound that he could not contain.

 

"Water," he croaked, hoping she actually was his nurse and could provide it for him.

 

He doubted he could get it himself, given that he could hardly raise his head from the pillow.

 

A warning bell sounded in his mind that he should be more worried about what happened to him, but all he could think of was his raw throat, and the time that had possibly passed to make it rough, like sandpaper.

 

“Please,” he rasped, desperate for something—dare he say anything—to soothe the ache.

 

She stopped humming.

 

"You’re awake,” came the soft reply, the woman’s voice as warm as the music he’d heard from her. Warm—and _familiar_.

 

He groaned, her next words swimming in his aching head. He could not follow her as she talked, instead falling into a soundless void from which he could not escape.

 

He moved his hand, fingers stroking the cool if stiff sheet that covered him, but the movement was like a sledgehammer to his skull. He froze, his muscles curling up with even more tension, his mind bogged down by a wave of fresh confusion. And, as he considered his physical state, a sense of _helplessness_ seeped into his body.

 

His breath caught in his chest, fire radiating up to his shoulders but it was this sense that he was at the mercy of strangers that was most painful. He had to be at a hospital. But where? And why? Who was this person? She was familiar, but….

 

He’d seen many people in his lifetime, been in many situations.

 

She could be anyone.

 

 _Anyone_.

 

Especially since...he could hardly wade through the pieces of his past and present. Now that he realized that something obscure and frightening and unknown prevented him from seeing his world with any clarity.

 

“Breathe, Thomas,” she ordered, the whisper caressing his ear like lips, piercing the void and letting light shine on his mind.

 

She was too close for comfort, for _his_ comfort, but he was more bothered by what she’d said.

 

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. _Thomas?_

 

His forehead wrinkled in his confusion, although the small action pained him, too.

 

Thomas? He was _not_ his father.

 

She said it again, insistent. “Thomas, you have to breathe. It’s my job to take care of you. And if you stop breathing, you die. If you die, then I’m out of a job.”

 

The last thing he wanted to do was put anyone—especially a nurse—out of a job. Even one with a flair for the dramatics.

 

He felt compelled to obey, and exhaled. The act wrung him out to dry, and he shook from the effort.

 

“You don’t respond to sedatives well, Thomas, do you?” she tsked. “You were supposed to be sleep for another two hours. At this rate, you’re going to get yourself worked up again. Breathe, for God’s sake.”

 

He drew a breath as he was told, testing his lungs as she coached him, and rammed the heel of his hand into his right eye socket. Jamming it there, his mouth falling open in a plea for relief, but he couldn’t make any sound other than another breathless moan.

 

“Okay,” she murmured, her tone relaxing, as if she cared. “Okay. You’re in a lot of pain, handsome. I can see that. I’ll get you that water and see if Leslie recommends that you take more meds. It’s been four hours since your last do—”

 

He gritted his teeth. Her rambling was getting him nowhere. “Wat...ter.” His broken, groveling rasp cut her off.

 

But only for a moment.

 

Clothing rustled at his side, and a straw touched his lips almost immediately. He fumbled when he attempted to take a drink, his lips uncooperative until she guided the straw into his mouth like he was a small child.

 

And, maybe for today, for this moment, he was.

 

He sipped, quickly discovering that drinking did the same thing that moving did.

 

Was he dying? His body against him? Like it has been for the past eight years?

 

He felt like it. He wanted to die.

 

He felt a rising desperation, his body shaking so hard he could hardly make sense of anything.

 

Of living.

 

Breathing.

 

Being human.

 

The woman brushed his hair off his forehead, the light touch only slightly soothing. His nerves felt like they were on fire, after all.

 

“Wayne, when you do things, you do them,” she hissed under her breath. “This is not how I expected to spend my days, playing nursemaid to you instead of stealing my way around Europe. The least you could do is not have a headache every damn hour.”

 

 _Wayne_.

 

She knew him. It sounded like she was quite familiar with him, too. And familiar enough that she thought to use sarcasm in the hopes that he’d pull himself up by his bootstraps. Making it seem like _he_ was the inconvenience, rather than this horrific discomfort plaguing him.

 

She knew him, but how?

 

It felt like he should know, but the pain.

 

It was driving him mad, slowly, like a steady, torturous drip.

 

“Who. _Are_. _You_?” he spat through clenched teeth, each word driving the spike even further into his skull.

 

“Who am I?” She sounded surprised. “I’ll tell you, Thomas, but only because you believed in m—”

 

Darkness slammed into him, and he cried out, a shudder volleying throughout his body.

 

Her own cry was lost as he tumbled back into the abyss.

 

 _________________________

 

 

There was a first time for everything, but Selina never thought making empty threats would end up on her short-list of firsts.

 

She could not leave.

 

It hurt to stay. Oh, it hurt, a desperate, unexplainable hurt, to see him suffer.

 

She stayed as self-inflicted punishment. Or so she told herself. The truth was, if she didn't stay, she’d no doubt that turning her back on Bruce would curse him to months—not just weeks—of recovery. Without the ever having the chance to piece the truths of what had happened to him together.

 

And it would be her fault.

 

 _Again_.

 

Fresh, fragile emotions rose up from the guilt. Emotions she thought she'd never experience again, least of all ones she’d ever admit to.

 

She stretched like a cat, turning in the cot Leslie provided for her. She hadn’t wanted to leave Bruce the night before, but Leslie had finally convinced her that she needed to sleep, too. She’d torn herself away from his side close to midnight. Leslie had first offered her the couch in her apartment, but Selina had declined, opting to use the old, vacated janitorial closet next to the lounge.

 

The cot wasn't much to brag about, but neither was the tiny room. And she was too exhausted after her short visit with Bruce and too worried that he'd need her if she returned to her own apartment or to Leslie's. Really, she didn't even have her apartment anymore after today, but that wouldn't have stopped her from using it until the new occupants arrived. Still, the cot was all she had, simply speaking.

 

Morning had come all too soon, but she rolled off the cot and checked her phone for the time. Five in the morning was not soon enough. She was anxious to see Bruce, terribly, uncomfortably, excitingly anxious, but she hadn’t even changed her clothes from the night before. Though it was odd for her to care about such things, she dared not approach the man—who hadn't failed to impress her with his incredible good looks even as a humble patient—looking like this. She wrinkled her nose as she looked down at herself again, then took twenty minutes to shower, dress, and, and run a comb through her hair.

 

She walked into the lounge, nearly ready to resume her duties as Wayne’s nurse. First, however, she needed the coffee Leslie had promised would be ready in the lounge come morning.

 

She wasn’t disappointed.

 

"Good morning," Leslie said brightly, pouring a cup of coffee for herself, and then one for Selina. They were alone, and Selina relaxed into a chair, her warm coffee mug nestled in her hands.

 

"You're very chipper," Selina commented dryly.

 

Leslie smiled. "I'm happy you're here. I've been thinking all night something was different with him, and even though he didn't remember you were here, I noticed a change."

 

"You were up all night?" she asked.

 

Not that she was all that surprised. Wayne seemed to have a unprecedented tolerance to Leslie’s sedatives.

 

"It's normal for me.” Leslie cleared her throat. "Speaking of which, I will take the late night shifts with him like I have been, Selina, if you can be with him through the day, and mid-evening. Prepare yourself. It won't be easy."

 

"I suppose you no longer need to sleep?" Selina sipped her coffee.

 

"I'm used to this, Selina. You're not."

 

It was a chiding. Selina stiffened, ready to defend herself—she had helped Wayne at the end, after all—but the fatigue and grief in the doctor’s eyes cautioned her, and she remained silent.

 

"That's fine," she agreed without further hesitation. "I do have to get my things from my apartment sometime today."

 

"Please take me up on my offer to stay at my apartment. I have more than enough room."

 

And be beholden to her for even more? "I'd rather stay here.”

 

Leslie regarded her like she used to, her eyes still sharp after all these years. "It's perfectly fine," she said. "I want you to be comfortable while you help Thomas.”

 

Selina couldn’t help but cringe. Wayne was no more a “Thomas” than she was a “Mary Sue.”

 

“But if you change your mind, the offer stands,” Leslie added. “I know the stress level is high here, with the clinic acting more like an emergency room, but I think that things will settle down in another few weeks. I forgot to mention to you yesterday that I've hired two part-time doctors, Kendall and Remier. Their offices were destroyed in the riots, so we’ll helping each other. And, that will free me up to take a shift with Bruce."

 

"How was he?"

 

"It’s touch and go, Selina,” Leslie said. “Once my assistant gets here, we'll run more tests. I’m not sure we’ve rid his body of the poison just yet. I have a suspicion it has caused these frequent fevers he’s been having.”

 

Selina schooled her features. That couldn’t be good. “Will you be able to get rid of it?”

 

“I’m almost certain, but in due time,” Leslie said, pausing for a breath before continuing. “Thomas was distracted last night. Distant even, but that isn’t uncommon after the injuries he incurred. He certainly wasn’t as aware and lucid under my watch than he was under yours.”

 

Selina had to swallow a lump. Wayne? Aware and lucid? Hardly.

 

He was a man with a broken mind. A man who, for all of his money and strength and knowledge, could not pick himself up by the bootstraps this time.

 

“The painkillers fogged his brain more. He wasn't too happy with me." Leslie set down her cup and slipped into her pristine, white jacket. "We didn't go over his notes. He was clearly exhausted and I decided it would be better to let him sleep. He needs a full night's rest each night, Selina. The therapy drains him, even if he doesn't remember all the work he puts in.”

 

“Is he making any progress?” Selina asked.

 

She immediately wished she hadn’t asked when pain filled Leslie's eyes, the answer clear as day on the doctor's face.

 

“Not much,” Leslie said, looking at her hands with a sigh. “But he can’t quit. We can’t quit. I reminded him that you were here. He looked at me like I told him Santa Claus was real, and then he smiled."

 

Leslie cocked her head and folded her arms, lifting her gaze to stare at Selina in mock accusation.

 

“I’m not sure I believe you. Thomas…” She hesitated.

 

“Thomas what?”

 

“He doesn't smile,” Selina finished lamely.

 

At least the Thomas that she knew in the tunnels didn’t. That Wayne had been dark, menacing, and in control. For a time, anyway.

 

“I can understand why you’d say that,” Leslie said without the condescending reply that she'd deserved. "Do you know that I haven't seen him crack a smile in the past three days, since he first awoke?"

 

Selina launched an equally mocking expression in return. How surreal it was to discuss Bruce Wayne like they were together, like she was the one who was going to be the answer to his prayers.

 

They weren't. She wasn’t anyone’s angel. She would be his nurse, and do all that she could do for him, but she wasn’t the answer to any of his problems.

 

But, oh, how she wished...

 

An old, familiar feeling settled distastefully in her stomach. The flight, the desperation to be free from everything that got in her way.

 

Leslie hummed. "Your silence about the matter is telling."

 

Selina opened her mouth to deny what the doctor insinuated but Leslie rushed on.

 

"The clinic will open its doors at six a.m. today. A little earlier, but they'll be lining up at the door again. Frankly, I need to get a head start. Bruce needs a bath this morning, and he doesn’t want Beth to go near him and a tub, which puts me in a tight spot.” She sighed. “I thought I’d figured him out, but then he blushed a little when I mentioned you..."

 

He blushed? Satisfaction swelled in her chest that she’d affected him that much.

 

She swallowed and tried to get a hold of herself.

 

"...so I’ll do my best to come mid-morning to help him. But I’ll need an extra set of hands, Selina, so don't leave for your apartment this morning." Leslie paused.

 

“That’s fine,” Selina said hurriedly. “It can wait.”

 

Leslie stopped and stared at her. “Are you really okay with this? You need to tell me now if you aren’t.”

 

She moistened her tongue. “I’m fine.”

 

Leslie’s eyes flickered with concern. “I’m certain that you really are.”

 

Selina rolled her eyes. "It’s fine. I'll go back tonight."

 

"Good,” Leslie said, giving a look that said she finally believed her. “I’ll ask Beth to keep an eye on him after you leave."

 

"He’s awfully difficult on her," Selina said, defending the flighty nurse for a reason she couldn’t identity. "She told me she's terrified of him. And what about his notes? Are you sure that’s wise, leaving them out in the open?"

 

Leslie’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “I see you’re...quite upset.”

 

“I’m just concerned that his secret will get out,” Selina said, backpedaling.

 

One side of the doctor’s mouth curved into a smirk. “I think you’re very concerned, my dear. “

 

She shrugged. “He’s Wayne,” she said, as if that was the answer.

 

And maybe it was. For her, at least.

 

"You wrote discretely enough, and so did I. I don't think there is anything in those notes that is overly specific, connecting “Thomas” to his past life as Bruce Wayne. Those notes are necessary, Selina. That folder is the first thing he sees every time he wakes up. Beth knows she's not to bother it. I’ve told her many times that it could set him back if they’re not left alone, and she likes her job here.” She hesitated. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a crush on him, as much as she complains."

 

“Crush?”

 

The doctor narrowed her gaze on Selina. “If anyone could see through her, it’s you.”

 

The comment confirmed her initial suspicion that something was off with Beth.

 

Selina arched a brow. “So now you want me to _spy_ on her?”

 

Not that she minded. She owed Wayne that, at least.

 

Leslie’s lips thinned. “She’s almost too flighty for her own good,” she said, then exited the lounge, leaving Selina to her own thoughts and questions.

 

And she had plenty. Like how was she going to make sure Beth kept her pretty little hands off Bruce?

 

"Terrified, my ass," she muttered as she followed, cross with herself that the nurse had slipped one past her.

 

_________________________

 

Bruce stared at the folder in front of him. Obviously, he was supposed to read its contents. If the name on the cover in perfect script, front and center, wasn’t a sign, what was? But he wasn’t feeling very cooperative just now. He had neither the desire nor the energy to open it.

 

 _Thomas_.

 

His dead father's name.

 

Someone had to have labeled it that way to get his attention. But was that person friend or foe? He was certain he was a patient in Dr. Thompson’s clinic, but he hadn’t seen anyone—not a doctor, not a nurse or even a visitor—since he’d opened his eyes a few minutes ago.

 

He itched to touch the folder and satisfy his curiosity, but something held him back. Instinct, or so he thought.

 

But it wasn’t that.

 

The more he thought about it, the greater the realization that he was scared of what he'd find. Him. The Batman, vigilante. Bruce Wayne, billionaire businessman. _Scared_.

 

A bead of sweat slipped down his face, proof that he was this injured man he feared himself to be. He didn’t bother wiping it away. If he did, if he acknowledged any weakness, this breaking from his very core, it would only confirm that he was barely hanging.

 

He couldn’t afford that and, instead, clung to what was left of his sanity in the midst of his confusion—the desire and ability to think for himself and challenge his circumstances.

 

It was all he had. These _questions_. Why was he here? How had he gotten here? If he was injured like this, where were his caretakers? Why was he alone?

 

He relaxed the fingers he hadn’t realized had been digging into his own skin, and dared himself to peek at the contents of the folder. It was a tempting mystery he couldn’t deny for long. It was bound to explain his circumstances. He just wasn’t sure he wanted to know the truth. And if this was the case, if he simply embraced his cowardice, wouldn’t it be better for him?

 

As they said, ignorance was bliss. Wasn’t it?

 

He clenched his hands into fists and folded his arms across his chest. Regrettably so, when a burst of fire seared his side. He shifted his body, trying to find relief from the sensation and a more comfortable position. Finding neither, he resorted to reading the name on the cover over and over and punishing himself—for what, exactly, he didn’t know—by allowing his past to come to the surface. Sadness gnawed on the vulnerable places of his heart as he thought of the father he had loved as a child and still loved as a man, though everyday he wondered if he was living up to even half of Thomas Wayne’s name.

 

Sadness turned to grief when he thought of Alfred.

 

He wasn’t sure he’d even gotten a head start. Instead, he’d _lost_ ground. His mistakes had piled up one by one since the beginning, forming a mountain of chaos with no one to answer to but himself.

 

But these circles, these endless thought patterns, were getting him nowhere. Frustrated, he pushed the tray away with a grunt, newly determined. He knew better than to do this. Ignorance was stupidity, not bliss.

 

Ignorance was also... _death_.

 

He heaved himself up to a sitting position as carefully as he could. He wasn’t a stranger to injuries, but pain was pain. He slowly pulled the covers from his waist, his gaze falling on the thick bandage wrapped around his chest. It covered a larger area than he’d thought. Undeterred, he continued to pull the covers off the rest of his body, revealing gruesome bruises not only around his knee but both of his legs, too.

 

He hissed a breath. They reminded him of his fall, when he’d saved Gordon's young son. And if it was this bruised, he wouldn’t be surprised if this new injury had aggravated his old one. The knee that had made him a cripple probably couldn’t take much more.

 

Not that it mattered. He’d worked through the pain, like he always did. Frowning, he pulled the catheters from the port in his hand. Despite whatever the hell had happened to him, he wasn’t going to wait. He wouldn’t sit here and be passive a bystander.

 

He was leaving.

 

He felt old, discarded...and something was missing, or maybe someone. He'd left the pit. He was on his way to Gotham. Maybe this was Gotham. But...he...

 

Someone was supposed to be here with him.

 

His heart skipped a beat. Other than Fox or Alfred, he worked alone. But there’d been another friend. He couldn’t make out a face in his mind, but he knew there had to have been someone else. Maybe...John Blake.

 

His frown deepened. He wasn’t altogether certain that his friend was here with him, although John had shown up to give him a ride when his car was being towed away. Quite unexpectedly, too. But this person here...it wasn’t John. His instincts told him it was someone else. But if this place was Gotham, there was only one way to find out and he’d have to get on his own two feet to find the answers he wanted.

 

He pulled up his aching knees and slowly moved his legs, letting them hang over the side of the bed. But the room spun as soon as he sat up. Forced to stop, he breathed through the discomfort for a moment, before placing his bare feet on the floor with a sharp inhale. He was smart enough to not apply pressure. At least, he was at first. Every muscle screamed at him to wait, but the unknown was too tempting.

 

He inched forward, allowing his legs to bear a little of his weight at a time without standing up completely. But then the hospital grade gown he wore malfunctioned, stopping him again. Unsurprisingly, the gown had bunched up around his thighs, pulling apart behind him, sending a draft straight to his back. Worse yet, his clothes were nowhere in sight.

 

"Damn,” he whispered after he cast a glance around the room.

 

"A bit crabby are we?"

 

That voice. He jerked his head up, and the woman’s face swam before his eyes. He blinked several times at her once his vision had cleared.

 

Had he gone absolutely mad? It couldn’t be.

 

It couldn’t be her, but it _was_.

 

Selina Kyle stared at him from the doorway, with so much worry in her eyes that he reeled back.

 

The room spun out of control.

 

“Dammit, Wayne,” she complained.

 

He closed his eyes and clutched the covers scattered around him, holding onto them to keep his body from sliding to the floor. But it was the arm wrapping around his waist that kept him from falling.

 

"Miss Kyle," he gritted when skin touched skin.

 

Of all people. Selina Kyle. The woman who had delivered him the worst betrayal. A betrayal that had cost him dearly. Why was she here, and why did she seem so concerned about him?

 

“Bruce,” she said, her aura of serenity instantly grating on his nerves. “Get back in bed. Your injuries—”

 

“No,” he interrupted in cutting voice, challenging her with a cold stare.

 

She didn’t react except for the thinning of her lips.

 

“You have no say in what I do,” he said, selfishly wanting to drive home the fact even though he wasn’t in control of his body, he still had control of his mind.

 

At least...he thought he had control of his mind.

 

Didn’t he?

 

He kneaded his forehead, the weight of his questions becoming a dark shroud, smothering his temporary sense of freedom.

 

“Actually—”

 

“I’m walking out of here,” he interrupted, ignoring both her and the way his shaking legs told him otherwise. “I have... _things_...things to do.”

 

It got a reaction, and she met his stubborn gaze with one of her own. “Oh, really?” she purred. “Will you be running out the door then, Mr. Wayne?”

 

He was the first to look away. He glared out the window. To to hell with the fact she had materialized out of nowhere, he would get out of his damn bed.

 

“Cat got your tongue?” she taunted, and walked over to the window and pulled the blinds down. She craned her neck to look back at him, the toss of her hair distracting.

“I can’t stay here,” he said, scowling at her beautiful hair. Tamping down a flicker of jealousy that she had so much freedom while he was indisposed, he stood up—

 

Which was a mistake.

 

He wasn’t steady. His legs felt like jelly. There was no where to go but dow—

 

The thought was lost to him. He wavered on his feet like he’d had one too many drinks. Funny, since he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually had a drink other than the ginger ale Alfred slipped into his glass for appearance’s sake.

 

"What the hell do you you think you're doing?" Her cry of protest wasn’t that unexpected, given the disapproval in her eyes. He glanced down at his legs and willed them to move and get him the hell out of here. "You can't get out of bed unless one of us helps you, Bruce."

 

"One of us?" he echoed, decisively not moving an inch when she tugged on his arm.

 

Irritation seeped through her stony expression. “Yes. One of us, which includes Leslie Thompkins.”

 

“Oh.” So he’d been right.

 

Yet, for some odd reason, being right did nothing to calm his nerves. The last time he was in Gotham, the city had needed saving. Whatever had happened to him wouldn’t change the fact that Gotham needed his help, like it always did.

 

Selina sighed and wrapped one arm around his waist, her fingers grazing his skin. She grasped his trembling hand with her steady one, and squeezed.

 

He scowled. So now he was shaking invalid?

 

“Don’t give me that look, Wayne,” she complained. “Sit. Now."

 

"Why? I just got up.”

 

She rolled her eyes. "For starters, your injuries were severe enough that you won't be able to take a single step without a walker or cane for awhile. Secondly, you had a difficult night, so this is just pure carelessness on your part, Mr. Wayne. Did you not read what was in that folder when you woke up?"

 

He blinked at her. He’d had no real good reason for not opening up that folder and reading its contents. "Busted."

 

"Seriously," she said under her breath. “And you think you’re a detective.”

 

He shrugged. “I wasn’t in the mood. Didn't care.”

 

Which was a lie he kept telling himself.

 

"So you’re an ass now?” She let go of him, jaw angry.

 

She moved away from him—her hands, the security he’d felt by her presence leaving, too, and panic struck his gut like lighting. “Why the cold shoulder all of a sudden?” he managed to ask.

 

“This is not how you greet your daytime nurse.”

 

His eyebrows shot up.

 

"Yes, me,” she affirmed, her irritated expression morphing into one of smug satisfaction. “It looks like Nurse Beth abandoned her post, not that I’m surprised. You should be thankful that I came to check up on you, Thomas.”

 

He winced, not sure that he liked sharing first names with his father. “Couldn’t you have picked something less….familiar? Less conspicuous?”

 

Her gaze narrowed coldly on him.

 

“Okay, okay,” he said, surrendering, though he wasn’t sure exactly why. “I’m sorry. I can see that you’re trying to help. I’m just...a little testy. “

 

“A little?” Her eyes softened. Barely, but it was just enough to see that maybe she wasn’t just here of her own accord. That maybe, just maybe, it had been a decision of the heart, not the head, to help him.

 

“Okay, a lot,” he confessed, “but please, just...lay off with the name.”

 

She didn’t speak right away, and the pause between them swelled.

 

He saw that he’d have to agree to it and sighed heavily. “My new identity?”

 

“Leslie chose it for you. Not me,” she said quietly.

 

So he really was an idiot for not looking at this folder of theirs. “What happened?”

 

“If you cooperate, I’ll tell you, Thomas.”

 

He winced at the name, but she made no apology. He still didn’t understand why he was upset about the name in the first place. Other than, perhaps, that he clearly had no control over his current condition—or alias.

 

"May I at least sit in that chair?" he asked raspily, glancing sideways at the wheelchair in the corner.

 

Her eyes widened a fraction and she nodded. "Leslie wanted you to try sitting in it for awhile today. Take a seat on the bed and I'll bring it over."

 

Leslie? That was the second time Selina had said the name. “Do you mean Dr. Thompkins?" he questioned, but relief had already spread in his chest.

 

She hesitated, but he didn't know why.

 

His ignorance raised red flags. “Miss Kyle?” he asked, growing impatient.

 

"Yes," she said, locking eyes with him.

 

He nearly looked away—her eyes told him she was far too vested in him—but he selfishly held on.

 

He swallowed back the odd thought.

 

“Here,” she muttered. “I’ll help you,” she added, and guided him through the painstaking task of settling back on the bed.

 

“Have you done this often?” He couldn't help but ask after he saw the ease at which she’d transitioned him.

 

“Maybe. Stay,” she commanded firmly, like he was a dog.

 

He doubled over in pain. “Do I have a choice?” he barked, his short laugh draining.

 

Had she even seen him? Like he could go anywhere at the moment. She’d been right, though. He wouldn’t be able to walk a single step at this point.

 

Fighting back a groan, he watched her from under his lashes. She retrieved the wheelchair from the corner and brought it to the side of the bed, locking the brakes.

 

They both dropped their gaze and stared at the chair.

 

He’d never used one of these before, not for any reason, but that wasn’t what had stopped him. A strange feeling swirled uncomfortably in his stomach. He had no idea what had happened to him, or if his injury would even heal. If he’d walk out of this clinic as good as new—or a little worse for wear. Or if he’d be tied to this forever.

 

It was a premonition that he could not shake.

 

"Bruce,” Selina began.

 

He ran his hands over his face in an attempt to hide the shiver that wracked his body. "Yes?" he asked, his voice as rough as he felt.

 

"I...Oh, God, Bruce."

 

The panic in her voice made him look up at her and was taken aback. Her gaze was a mixture of shock and pity. It took him a moment to understand why.

 

He glanced down at himself. “Huh.” He’d forgotten that he was nearly naked. "That's...some of that really isn't new, so don't worry,” he explained.

 

"Don't worry?" She laughed humorlessly, her disbelief palpable. "Is that from all of your nocturnal activities?"

 

"The scars, bruises, injuries?" He’d be truthful because, well, what else did he have?

 

He certainly didn’t have a shred of decency left. His gown had slipped off one of his shoulders, revealing more of his chest and the older scars he’d been able to hide from people with lesser curiosity. Or explain, with great care and exaggeration, what worthless activities he had wasted his time and money.

 

But Selina was not one of those people. Nor was she stupid and gullible. She was intelligent and crafty and had just seen far more into his past than he’d ever wanted her—anyone—to see.

 

If she wasn't so shocked by the state of his torso, she’d be more amused by his state of undress.

 

He fought a smile, oddly amused himself.

 

“Yes,” she said. “Are they fr—”

 

"From going out at night?"

 

She nodded.

 

"Yes, but if you think this is bad, you should see the view without the gown," he deadpanned. "Now, can I get into that chair? I wanted to look out the window."

 

Her shoulders tightened, the fine lines of strain on her face deepening. "You really should read what's in that folder.”

 

"Not yet."

 

“Fine,” she retorted, pulling the gown up to his shoulders and efficiently retrying it.

 

He didn’t apologize for being the ass that she’d accused him of being, but it wasn’t that he didn't want to make amends. As soon as he started to move again, wildfire had seeped into every part of his body. Eyes squeezed shut, he tried to steady his breath but, as she helped him, the movement only aggravated the pain.

 

She arranged a small blanket on his lap, draping it over his legs, the gentle touch of her hands soothing. The chair moved before he could place his hands on the wheels and take control.

 

"I can do at least that, Miss Kyle,” he rasped, indignation swelling in his chest.

 

She ignored him—she was good at that, apparently—and pushed his chair to the spot by the window that he'd coveted from his bed. “Is this where you wanted to be?" She flipped the blinds open, making a slapping sound that caused him to look up.

 

He slowly unfurled himself and stared outside. The scenery wasn't what he expected but it answered a few of his questions.

 

_Crime Alley._

 

Of course. It made sense. If he wanted to hide, in Gotham, and as Bruce Wayne, this was the safest place because no one would expect him to be here.

 

"We're at Leslie's clinic,” he said. “And...Gotham...it's still standing. Did I make it back in time?"

 

"You did." Selina's hand rested on his shoulder.

 

It was strange. Bane, gone. But somehow, it seemed right.

 

She squeezed his shoulder. "Bruce, will you read those notes now? They're important."

 

He leaned forward, pressing his fingers along his forehead and feeling very much like it was something he was doing an awful lot of lately.

 

"Can you fill in the holes for me?” he asked. “Why I'm here? How I got to Leslie’s clinic?"

 

Her eyes narrowed. "You trust me to tell you the truth, after all I've done to you, rather than read the notes Leslie wrote herself?"

 

His let his hand drop to his lap. It was a good question, but it wasn’t hard to answer. He tilted his head back and gazed up at her. Even though he wanted to look out the window and assess his surroundings, he wanted to assure her more. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Her green eyes weren't the same as he'd remembered in the tunnels. They were deeper and softer, swirling with traces of emotion that he couldn't place no matter how hard he tried. Her hair, damp and curling slightly at the ends, fell well below her shoulders, indicating that some time had passed, as she’d inferred. Her mouth, full and tempting, formed a thin, strained line. Something silent and mysterious passed between them, thickening the tension that had rapidly formed.

 

"Yes,” he said, thankfully without choking on the lump in his throat.

 

"Alright, I’ll tell you." The succinct reply and delicately spoken agreement both surprised him and shattered the mystery.

 

And she began to explain. At times, standing with her hand on his shoulder. Other times, pacing behind him as he looked out the window. Still other times, sitting on the window sill with her legs stretched before her. It was difficult to concentrate when she sat that way, and he swore she did it on purpose. Her eyes gleamed like when she kicked his cane, but this time it was without malice. It was playful, lacking the same cruel intention she’d had when she’d kicked his cane out from under him without a thought to the damage she could do to him.

 

But she was here. She was kind. Compassionate, even. He began to relax, his frustration fading when he realized that they’d somehow crossed a line and he could fully trust her now. _Almost_ trust her. She finished her explanation, and there she was in front of him on that windowsill. Legs long, body strung tightly, and expression wary as she waited for him to acknowledge that he'd heard and understood.

 

He had no choice but to accept his new lot in life and make the best of it. But he had to make light of his situation to soften the blow for himself—and maybe even for her. He chuckled. "So I guess this definitely qualifies me for shut in status."

 

She didn’t laugh like he’d wanted her to. "That's not funny."

 

Well, then. “Not funny?” he said in disbelief. “It’s damn funny to me.”

 

“This is all you have to say now? Really?” A flicker of hurt crossed her face.

 

Still, he couldn’t stop even more sarcasm from falling from his lips.

 

“Well, you have to admit, it sort of is,” he said, chuckling.

 

“You are such an ass, Wayne. It’s not _funny_.”

 

He cocked an eye at her. “You’re certainly not going to be taking me places. Shut. In,” he emphasized.

 

“Stop it, Thomas.”

 

There it was again. The name. He swallowed the new lump in his throat. “I have to laugh, Miss Ky—”

 

“Well, don’t. You're going to get better,” she snapped.

 

Knowing he was beaten, for now, he deflated and said softly, “I’m sorry. I didn't mean to upset you.”

 

She looked away. “No harm done.”

 

The tone of her voice said otherwise.

 

He’d have to make it up to her. He’d never been a good patient, and surely wouldn’t start now. But that didn't mean he couldn't be peaceable. "Will you hand me something to write with?” he asked her, the swift change in subject eliciting a look of confusion from her. “Please?”

 

She grabbed the pen by his bed and handed it to him without a word.

 

Along with the folder he didn’t want to open.

 

He held it, bending the edges with a firm hand. Wanting to crush it completely and go on with his life as it had been.

 

She looked at him in disappointment when he didn’t move. “Open it," she gritted out. "Write on it. Do something with it and show me that you understand what’s happening to you right now. For God sake’s Wayne, are you a coward?”

 

The headache began waging war at his temple. “Miss Kyle-”

 

“Don’t Miss Kyle me,” she retorted. “Open it.”

 

He did, turning page after page as he read. The notes gave him a clearer picture of his lot in life. Besides sharing details of his displaced memories, a documentation his daily activities was also included. Overwhelmed by the care Leslie—and now Selina—had taken with him, he sank into his pillow and made a decision.

 

This—everything in this folder—was his life right now and he was going to have to do his best to get himself _out_ of the folder.

 

Her eyes bored into him as he scrawled on a blank sheet of paper that he’d taken from the folder, and then another When he was finished, he threw Selian a sheepish grin. “The first one is going on top so I can see it,” he said, handing her both papers.

 

“‘Thomas, don't be a moron,’” she read flatly. She glanced up at him, emotionless, before looking back down at the note and continuing. “‘Open the folder and read what’s inside before doing anything else, including getting out of bed. Better yet, don’t get out of bed until Cat or Leslie are here to help you.’” She cleared her throat and stared at him. “You forgot about Beth.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Your other nurse.” She pulled out the other note he wrote, a smirk rising on her face before she even began to read it aloud. “‘Don’t be an ass.” Do NOT make shut-in jokes. They upset Cat.’”

 

“I have to know what upsets you, or I’ll never be a good patient,” he explained, sobering quickly when he realized these notes would be the only thing connecting him to Miss Kyle. Nothing else.

 

“That’s very sweet.”

 

“Sweet,” he mused aloud. Sensing a dark cloud closing in on him, he sighed. “I’ve never gotten that one before.”

 

“Oh?” She fluttered her lashes at him. “Would you prefer…”

 

His thoughts drew inward, her words all but fading in the background, when the implications of his situation, which he didn’t even fully understand yet, came to him. This, what they were doing, was meaningless. She’d leave, someday. And he...he could be stuck like this for a long time. He wouldn’t tie her here. It wouldn’t be fair to her.

 

He’d stop flirting with her for both their sakes.

 

“Mr. Wayne,” Selina said slowly as he wheeled his chair toward the bed in desperation. “Did I say something wrong?”

 

He shook his head. He was an idiot who shouldn’t try to flirt with a woman—a dangerous, seductive one at that—when he couldn’t even remember that she was here with him in the first place.

 

“I understand,” she murmured, placing the notes in the folder.

 

“No, you probably don’t.” Frustrated that the short time in the wheelchair had let him so fatigued, he stared at his bed that was beyond reach. Too much was beyond his reach. His memory. Life outside of Gotham.

 

When would he find solace from this nightmare? If the only answer was sleeping, closing himself off from the world, so be it. It was all he had control of.

 

“I do,” she insisted quietly, helping him out of the chair and onto his bed.

 

His breaths came out in short gasps, and he was sweating buckets by the time he was on his back. His distraction—Miss Kyle—had been all too brief.

 

“This was more than you’ve done since you were hurt,” she said with an air of authority. “You’ve done nothing wrong, and this isn’t your fault. If you’re tired you need to listen to your body. We’ll try again another time. And let me tell you, Thomas, there'll be another time for therapy _today_.”

 

He blinked up at her. Who was this person? “When I said there was more to you, this drill sergeant persona wasn’t quite what I meant.”

 

She surprised him by smiling. “Be careful what you wish for.”

 

“I always push,” he mumbled to himself, mind drifting. “Don’t need—”

 

“If you’re about to say you don’t need me, I’d think twice, Wayne.”

 

He looked up at the ceiling. Where was he again? “I need to push,” he repeated.

 

“Bruce?” she called softly, her hand brushing his hair back.

 

“Hmm?” The world was swimming. “Push.”

 

“You don’t need to do that right now. Let us help you.” She withdrew her hand, but not before he’d leaned into it, keening into her presence.

 

“Need to..” His eyes closed heavily. “Need…” he sucked in a breath, remembering. “It’s pretty pathetic isn’t it?”

 

“Bruce…”

 

The pain in her voice pained _him_.

 

“That I can't offer you the simple courtesy of knowing you’re here, helping me? That I have to write down every single thing I learn about you?’

 

“Don’t think of it like that. This is not your fault. I won’t take offense if you don’t remember I’m here. I’m a big girl.”

 

“You distract me,” he murmured, the wave of sleep not too far behind him.

 

“I do, don't I?” she said.

 

He smiled to himself, knowing perfectly well that the same memory flashed through her mind.

 

He’d take a kiss from her anytime, even if it meant losing another valet ticket.

 

“You distract me, Miss Kyle. Your kiss. Your legs. Long, beautiful...and on the ledge. Your voice. Eyes. The way you...distracting.”

 

“You’re not making much sense, handsome.”

 

“Will you forgive me?” His eyes fluttered open and he searched for her. “Selina. Selina Kyle.”

 

“I’ll humor you and say yes.” She pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. “You’re burning up. No wonder you’re talking nonsense.”

 

It wasn’t nonsense. How could he get her to understand? His aching fingers reached for her, but an inch was all he could manage. “Will you forgive me?”

 

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Her jaw set. “I’m calling for Leslie.”

 

“Don’t need her. Have you.” His eyes, now uncooperative and heavier than before, closed shut of their own accord. “I’m sorry...forget you’re here. I’d never...do that...not nice…”

 

“You do need sleep, and like I told you before, you can’t help this.”

 

“Please. Miss Kyle.”

 

“I forgive you, Mr. Wayne.”

 

The comfort of her and the warmth of his bed were too much. He felt himself fading into the promise of sleep, the world around him hardly making any sense.

 

“I believe this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship, Mr. Wayne,” Selina whispered in his ear.

 

He didn’t answer, except for the thought he gladly relinquished.

 

If only it could be more.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness...I’m sorry this update took me so long! I’ll try my best to do better in the future. Sometimes my muse takes a longer vacation than I’d like, and depending on RL stuff, getting back into the writing groove can take even longer. At any rate, here’s another chapter, edited once again from my original version. And believe me, a lot has changed in this one. But even though I’m editing and trying to fix past mistakes, I’ve no doubt made new ones! LOL! So please bear with me. :) Hope you enjoy the read!

Later that evening, bold strokes of reds and golds brushed the night sky. It was a sight for sore eyes in a city recovering from destruction’s tight fist. A reminder that not all hope was lost, Batman’s sacrifice ensuring that life would continue for all of Gotham’s citizens, whether it was deserved or not.

 

Selina gazed out the window longer than she meant to, falling into silence and introspection. The sky was striking, more so against the layer of fresh winter snow. Even so, she determined that the sunset was the second most beautiful thing about Gotham. She hated cliches, did her best to avoid them at all costs. Yet she had to admit that the fact that Batman was not dead but very much alive - as Bruce Wayne - was the first beautiful thing.

 

She couldn’t count the number of times she’d had to mentally pinch herself. Wayne hadn’t been swallowed by the bay, or been consumed by the machinations of his dark, alter ego. He was alive and also healing, albeit slowly. Her heart, hardened from enduring a hellish childhood, had become unrecognizably soft. She’d been easily swayed by the billionaire’s vulnerability. Or, rather, by the guilt wrought by the tragic circumstances that had brought him to Leslie’s clinic in the first place.

 

Leslie had pleaded with her to remain at the clinic, and now she had a choice. The choice had already been made for her, by _him_. She couldn’t do anything _but_ stay, and so she reluctantly decided she’d have to head back to her apartment and retrieve the remainder of her belongings, ending, for good, her former life and starting a new one, here. Not that she didn’t like the idea of leaving the clinic for a short time. She did. Fresh air had always cleared her head before. And since the day had been rather eye-opening but mostly heartbreaking and altogether tiring, she would have to step away from Bruce’s sickbed for the sake of her own sanity.

 

She couldn’t imagine what Bruce was feeling, being the actual patient. And that was the problem, for neither could Bruce. In his current state, he couldn’t fully understand the enormous challenge he had ahead of him, no matter how often and earnestly they’d explained it to him, because he simply couldn’t remember. He was incapable of comprehending how precarious his mental health actually was.

 

It scared her. It unnerved her to see him so openly dependent on other people to survive. It tipped the balance between them, putting absolutely everything in her hands when, before, most of the rules of their relationship had been fashioned by Bruce’s strong and resilient hands - not hers. She’d be lying to herself if she said she hadn’t thought about using this situation and his vulnerabilities for her own gain at least once. But, she still had a debt to pay, one that she assumed would take her an entire lifetime to fulfill.

 

She’d called on Leslie for assistance more often than she would’ve liked that day, with Beth popping in periodically to check on Bruce's medical needs. She strongly believed that she’d been handed the most difficult part of Bruce’s recovery - filling in the gaping holes in Bruce’s memory. Or, rather, filling in most of them. She’d kept a few details to herself, including who had really shot Bane. Telling Bruce the truth about that one minor detail would no doubt open a can of worms and invite more questions. At the very least he’d know that she’d changed her mind a hell of a lot earlier than he thought she had. And she didn’t want that. She preferred watching Bruce’s expression relaxing in satisfaction that she’d stayed to help him based on the simple fact that she could, without her heroics, for lack of a better word, getting in the way of the moment.

 

His appreciative glances solidified her decision to stay, despite how exhausting it was to be the focal point of the playboy’s warped reality. Bruce Wayne’s own Groundhog Day. The repetitive explanations, constant therapy, and utter redundancy of his recovery - without seeing any tangible sign of recovery - had to continue if there were to be any progress at all. She was hopeful, like Leslie, but doubted they'd see much progress right away at all. The spacing of these ‘resets’ hardly ever fluctuated, yet he didn’t lose his memories all at once. It was worse than that, in her opinion. The losses chipped at Bruce’s armor without him even knowing, leaving him at their mercy. He’d manage fifteen to twenty minutes of conversation before his mind would begin to fracture, the memory loss apparent in his confused expression and brooding silence. It didn't take long after that for him to fall asleep, or succumb to one of his migraines, incapacitated and helpless.

 

Or, to Selina’s chagrin, for him to become highly agitated. When that happened, his behavior resembled that of an overgrown child, ultimately testing her patience.

 

For now, however, he was subdued and cooperative. A small blessing after a rough, first day on the job. Tomorrow, she’d do better, because she was all he had. A scary thought, if she were a lesser woman. It was good, for his sake, then, that she wasn’t.

 

Yet, keenly aware of his mental splintering, and of the horrific part she’d played in causing this damage, even the simple act of leaving to take care of a personal issue left a sour taste in her mouth. "She'll be here any minute,” she told him, half expecting him to be too engrossed in his therapy to hear her.

 

Bruce’s eyes flickered her way. He stopped what he was doing, his pencil falling from his loosened grip. "The nurse. Right? What's her name?'

 

"Beth," Selina said drolly. "Spell it."

 

He looked at her with amusement. "Why?"

 

"To help you remember."

 

"B-E-T-H,” Bruce stated without hesitation. "Beth."

 

She’d been watching him from her spot at the window, but it was hardly close enough when he looked so endearing. She came to stand beside his bed, curious to see what he was working on. "You sound like a schoolboy when you do that."

 

He hadn't heard her, his head bowed again and his brow furrowed so deeply she feared it would make a permanent crease.

 

Rather than being annoyed over his obliviousness, she was pleased that he was actually listening to Leslie’s suggestion to work on a crossword puzzle like a model patient. She only wished she could hold his attention for longer than one minute.

 

She lifted her hand, tempted to take the pencil from him, but refrained at the last minute. "Bruce."

 

He scrawled an answer on the page, not hearing her. Leslie had told her he’d be distracted, and to ease him back into the conversation as carefully as possible. But the circles under his eyes were even darker than before.

 

Ignoring the doctor’s advice, Selina suppressed a sigh and clutched his arm, stopping him from writing more. "You must be tired. Maybe Beth, your nurse, can start your bedtime routine earlier tonight."

 

He looked at her blankly. “It’s not morning?”

 

A simple look out the window would’ve told him that, but she didn’t state the obvious. Bruce didn’t work that way anymore. “No.”

 

"Oh.” Bruce set down his pencil. "I didn’t know. So, this nurse. What does she look like, again?”

 

"Perky,” she said.

 

She stopped there, biting her tongue in case she said something about the nurse she would later regret.

 

His brows lifted. "So, Nurse B-E-T-H is perky. Not much to go on there, Miss Kyle."

 

She wondered, and not for the first time, how a man who had once been invincible could look and sound so needy. "I shouldn't leave you."

 

"I'll be fine.” Bruce shrugged as if that was all there was to it.

 

And to him, there wasn’t much to it, to living right now, was there?

 

But to her...her _leaving_ , if only for an hour, meant that he wasn’t getting the best care. Her care. Not some floozy with hidden claws. "I can't abandon you. You’re not always easy to work with, handsome, and Leslie’s had a busy day.”

 

"I’ll try harder. And you’re not abandoning me. You're here." He offered her a small smile. "And I am grateful. Go. Really."

 

A knock sounded at the door.

 

"Come in," Bruce called out, an errant lock of hair falling across his forehead. As the door opened, he glanced sideways at Selina, then whispered, "Cat. I'll be fine."

 

She doubted that. In his state, Bruce was vulnerable to anyone who wished to exploit his weaknesses. And Beth, who walked over to them with a sway of her hips and smile that was far too sweet to be authentic, certainly was capable of using him. Selina didn’t trust her flighty ways for an inch of her life.

 

But it seemed as if Bruce did. He’d already returned to his crossword puzzle, ignorant of Selina’s internal struggle and Beth’s possible manipulation. Nobody, not even Bane, could’ve predicted _this_ outcome for the hero of Gotham.

 

_I will break you._

 

Bruce had been broken a second time, in a way, thanks to this regression in memory. The thing was, Bane had broken her, too, and she loathed to admit it. The second she’d stepped foot on Wayne ground she’d found herself living in the skin of someone else. She’d started caring about Bruce, investing in him and his daily activities. Helping him decide what to eat for dinner, for one. Going as far as asking him if he were cold, so that she could fetch him another blanket, for God’s sakes. She’d mourned him, shed tears over his death, her facade splintering with her recent choices. If that wasn’t breaking, she didn’t know what was.

 

"Take your time, Cat. Thomas and I will be just fine,” the nurse announced. “Besides, the medication will make our finest patient a bit on the sleepy side.”

 

Bruce grinned up at Selina. “Finest patient, she said,” he repeated, his smile now a bit smug.

 

Biting back another retort, Selina stepped away from Bruce and turned for the door, walking slowly as she attempted to come up with a good excuse to forfeit her belongings and stay with her patient, instead.

 

Nurse Beth took advantage of both the extra space and the silence, and shuffled her way between Selina and Bruce. But as the nurse prepared to take his blood pressure, Bruce’s eyes glazed over, an obvious sign of an impending migraine.

 

Selina’s eyes shot daggers into the back of Beth's head as the nurse lowered the bed for Bruce to rest more comfortably.

 

Somehow, Bruce noticed her irritation. He turned his head and stared at her through heavily-lidded eyes. “Something wrong, ‘at?” he all but slurred.

 

She masterfully schooled her features, allowing her honest sympathy for Bruce bleed through. “I was just thinking that small print has to be taxing on your eyes, Thomas,” she said, smoothly recovering.

 

Of course, Bruce looked at her as if he didn’t believe her. “Never had issues before.”

 

She could think of several things provoking them, not that he’d remember if she rattled off a list to him. “It’s a possibility. I think I’ll upload a few audiobooks to your phone tonight. Maybe I’ll try to find a book of puzzles in large print.”

 

Bruce winced, but didn’t disagree. “Thank you,” he said after a moment. “Maybe you’re right.”

 

Selina immediately saw that the confession had cost him. “I’m sure you won’t need them for long,” she reassured him, though she wasn’t sure at all. She’d read up on radiation exposure, closing her search when she realized she’d do herself no favors by worrying about the what-ifs.

 

Surely Bruce had escaped before being exposed. He was alive, which meant he’d had to have ejected before the blast, as far away as he could.

 

He glanced at the puzzle book in his hand, then rolled it in his grip, clutching it in a white-knuckled fist, his expression utterly morose. “I hope you’re right.”

 

The air grew taut between them. “Bruce,” Selina said, grasping at anything to make the tension disappear. “Do you need to anything while I’m out?”

 

“I...” Bruce started to say, then stopped, frowning as Beth fluffed his pillow with a flourish, going as far as stretching over him to reach the other side.

 

The nurse’s chest was a hairsbreadth away from touching his, and that was no accident.

 

Bruce threw Selina a pained look. It would’ve made her laugh had it not been for the nurse’s exaggerated familiarity with him and the irritation still flickering in her chest. “You have to leave?” he asked weakly.

 

“I’ll be back soon,” Selina promised, a touch of faked sweetness in her voice.

 

“Take your time,” Beth called out brightly without looking at her.

 

Bruce looked stricken. “Cat-“

 

“It won’t take long. I promise.” She smiled at him again, behind Beth’s back, forcing herself to refrain from kissing the lines of strain on his forehead and leave, instead. After closing the door behind her, Selina hurried down the hall. She had to retrieve the remaining luggage from her apartment, and it wasn't a task she wanted to leave to Jen. Strangely enough, she wasn’t sure she could trust Jen anymore. Bane’s occupation of Gotham had brought out not only the best in people such as Bruce, but the worst, such as in Jen, whose sticky fingers had even found a few of Selina’s things recently.

 

But leaving Bruce with that woman vexed her.

 

Bruce’s frustration was palpable every time his short term memory impairment hindered their progress towards normalcy. Not only that, but Selina was learning how to both judge and respond to his sudden, dark moods. Beth wasn’t. The nurse was more interested in herself than her own patient, that much was clear. And Bruce deserved more care than a selfish, flighty woman could offer him.

 

Lost in her thoughts, she almost missed hearing Leslie’s voice.

 

“And now let’s move to our next patient,” Leslie said warmly.

 

“Yes, Dr. Thompkins.”

 

Selina stopped in her tracks, searching for the doctor. Upon a closer look, she realized Leslie was working with patients in the makeshift children's ward. It was actually an old waiting room, funds to refurbish it no doubt limited, for it was sectioned off by curtains, housing the children who needed to stay overnight. She hadn’t planned on stopping, but the details of the patient prodded her memory.

 

Leslie pulled the curtain around from the next patient, revealing the ever-watchful, little girl from the night before.

 

"Cora Waith is three years old,” Leslie said to a petite redhead beside her holding a clipboard. “She arrived last night with her mother, in need of treatment. Both were diagnosed as malnourished and dehydrated. Now that we’ve given Cora fluids - and a bed of her own to sleep in - she’s beginning to show signs of improvement.” Leslie paused, smiling down at the child. “We're keeping her and her mother until they’re as good as new. Isn’t that right, Cora?"

 

Cora’s head bobbed up and down, but her pale face was lost among the other weary faces around her.

 

"I'm sorry, Dr. Thompkins." Cora's mother twisted her hands on her lap. "We...we had to give up our home when Bane's men came. We couldn't find anywhere to hide but under a bridge."

 

Selina’s heart filled with unexpected compassion. No one, let a young child, should be forced to spend a cold evening under a bridge. Especially Gotham’s bridges. They’d never been beautiful, but ever since Bane’s occupation, any redeeming quality that they may have had had long disappeared, just like Gotham’s soul.

 

But Gotham’s soul had been twisted long before that, during the time of the Joker, and when Batman had taken the blame for Harvey Dent.

 

"No one is blaming you for the choices you were forced to make," Leslie reassured, her tone comforting. The other woman’s hands relaxed in her lap, but her eyes remained averted. "You did the only thing you could do, circumstances being what they were."

 

"Even my father wasn’t spared…” The woman’s voice hitched. “He’s important, a board member of Wayne Enterprises.”

 

Leslie locked eyes with Selina over her companion's shoulder. “Wayne Enterprises?”

 

Did Bruce know of the condition of his board members? She doubted it, not that it was a good indicator of his concern. He’d been away from Gotham for months after his back had been broken. He couldn’t possibly have any way of knowing.

 

“We still haven't found him,” the woman whispered. “I don’t know if they ever will.”

 

At least the woman didn’t have illusions about her father’s recovery. Most likely, if someone was ‘missing,’ it meant they were dead.

 

Selina should know. Gotham had never been kind to lost souls.

 

The situation was too familiar to Selina, and she couldn’t ignore the tears that started to appear in the little girl’s eyes.

 

She slipped into the chair beside the woman and grasped her hand to catch her attention. "Mrs. Waith, what is his name?" she asked, the woman’s eyes slowly coming up to meet hers.

 

"Call me Annette. Please. His name is Douglas Fredericks." The mother squeezed Selina's hand like it was her lifeline. "Please,” she said again, earnestly. “He is a wonderful, giving man. He's the only family we have left. My husband is gone...and it's just me...and Cora..."

 

"Have you filed a report with the police? It would be the best place to start."

 

"Yes, but it took us the whole day to get through the line." Annette peered anxiously at Selina. "They told us there are hundreds still missing. My father is just one more face to them."

 

"I have a friend who may be able to help." Selina ventured, in partial disbelief that her intentions to assist this woman included contacting Gordon. The name, Wayne, seemed to be a driving force for anything she did these days. "I'll see if I can do something."

 

"Cat..." A warning glinted in Leslie's eyes.

 

"I can't make any promises, but I can perhaps hasten the search or at least point them in the right direction." Her connections ran deep, and she could think of several people who’d fallen in the gray like she’d had who would only need a little convincing to help her. She was supposed to have left, thanks to the clean slate, and all of this, on top of Bruce’s necessary rehabilitation, certainly threatened her clean getaway.

 

But so did showing her face at this very clinic.

 

First Bruce, now this ragamuffin girl and her mother. She'd gone way too soft. "I'm leaving to take care of something, but I’ll run this by my friend as soon as I can."

 

"Thank you." Annette’s gaze fell on her weary daughter, whose head began to nod. "Even if it were only that, it would give us hope."

 

Selina left the clinic as soon as she could and hailed a taxi. As she rode in the back, she called Jim Gordon and surprised the hell out of the commissioner when she told him she'd remained in Gotham and not fled the country like she'd told him the day the bomb exploded.

 

“Wonders never cease,” he said quietly after a moment.

 

She wondered what he’d even do when he learned that Bruce was alive. _If_ he learned.

 

She bit her tongue. It wasn’t her place to tell him.

 

“Will you stay, then? And help us?” he asked.

 

“No,” she said adamantly, squeezing her eyes shut to the crippled city outside the vehicle. “Will you meet with me then? I don’t have much time,” she said stiffly.

 

“Yes,” Gordon agreed, without hesitation.

 

It amused her that he was suddenly so trusting of a thief, the kidnapper of a senator. “I’ll stop by your place later that night,” she informed him and ended the connection, all on her own terms.

 

In the ensuing silence, the wheels in Selina's mind continued to turn.

 

_Even if it were only that, it would give us hope._

 

What she wouldn't do for a little hope herself. She was determined that, soon, Bruce would remember her presence at the clinic before his fingers picked up one particular note and brought it close to his face to read.

 

 __________________________

 

Gordon sat at his table after yet another strange day, the lights out and his outdated computer open, muddling through his disbelief that Miss Selina Kyle, thief and kidnapper turned heroine of Gotham, would show her face to him. She’d made it clear to Gordon the day that the Batman had died that she was done with Gotham. Through. Finished. He couldn’t blame her. And he hadn’t stopped her, not after all she'd done to help them take care of the bomb. When she’d confessed to killing Bane before he killed Batman, he couldn’t help the satisfaction he’d felt, realizing that he’d made the right call to not bring her in.

 

The Batman had trusted her enough to enlist her help. And help save the city she did. That was enough for him.

 

Gordon had looked up her file a few days later but had discovered nothing left of her identity. No phone records. No addresses. Selina Kyle had disappeared, as she'd said she would. And now? Gordon didn't know what to think. Something big had to have happened to keep her here.

 

This chapter of his life- and of Gotham- had ended with the death of the Batman. It disturbed Gordon, for so much of his life the past decade had intertwined with Bruce Wayne's, and he'd not even known. He was disturbed, not because he felt tricked, but because, after all these years, he finally wanted to know the true man behind the mask. It was ironic. He wanted to know and had been given the truth, but the truth itself was a yet another mask. And now...the truth was lost to him.

 

Grief did strange things to people, that much Gordon knew. Maybe it explained his growing obsession to know the truth of Bruce Wayne. At the cemetery, he'd spouted an off-handed reply to Blake which reflected nothing of the stirrings in his own mind. It's why he chose to read what he had at Bruce Wayne's funeral. It's why he could not move on until he discovered, first hand, something about the real hero under the billionaire facade.

 

Gordon pressed a computer key to begin another step that could help him fit the pieces to the puzzle.

 

" _Hello, Commissioner."_

 

Was he insane for watching this after all this time? Probably. Add in the fact that he had a copy on file - that was another story. The Joker was nothing he wished to revisit, but the unraveling mystery of Batman intrigued him more than ever, for it had merely unmasked...another mask. Gordon was anxious to shed light on how Wayne managed to juggle two facades. He doesn’t know how the man hadn’t been run to the ground with so much on his shoulders.

 

But, remembering how the billionaire had looked in the news, the rumors of the injury behind his cane, he had been run to the ground, now, hadn’t he?

 

" _Them?"_

 

How had he not seen the anger and desperation in Batman's words? Gordon slumped in his chair, reeling that the answer had been in front of him the entire time.

 

"Rachel," he whispered.

 

Of course. Bruce Wayne's self-imposed exile, right at the time the Joker forced Wayne's longtime friend, Miss Dawes, into a horrid, twisted game. Gordon was privy to the knowledge Bruce and Rachel were friends. He'd seen a tabloid, at the very least. Now, as Joker's words echoed and Batman's reaction was hauntingly visible on screen, Gordon saw without a doubt that Bruce's feelings for Miss Dawes had been more than just friendship. They had run deeper, giving cause for greater pain in the aftermath. "Dear God."

 

Batman dropped the Joker onto the interrogation room floor in his haste and desperation.

 

Gordon slammed his computer shut. He'd seen enough.

 

Wounded- that's what Wayne had been. Wounded by death and then by deception. Nauseated, Gordon realized he'd added to an fresh, raw and gaping wound. With Batman hunted and forced to lay low, Wayne would grieve behind the doors of his magnificent home and precarious reputation for...

 

" _No one's seen Wayne in years..."_

 

Gordon put his head in his hands, sighing. If that didn't make the Batman seem human, nothing would. Before, the two of them had a job to do. It wasn't that Gordon was callous and didn't care that Batman had been a mere mortal. It was that Gordon didn't _need_ to know. But now...things had changed.

 

"Commissioner, is this a bad time?"

 

Gordon, perhaps still conditioned by Batman's silent arrivals and exits, hardly jumped at the sultry voice behind him.

 

"Miss Kyle," he waved his hand to the empty chair at his table, not bothering to look about. The hours had been long, his heart left to drag on the ground, whatever pieces were left of it. Barbara was gone, Batman was gone, and now he was relying on a barebones police force. "Have a seat, please."

 

Miss Kyle slipped easily into the chair, her black mask providing an escape from making this a personal, friendly visit.

 

“Need something to drink?” he asked softly, taking in the tightness around her mouth, the dampness of her hair. He deduced she’d had to take care of several things tonight, hopefully not getting into trouble. “Water, maybe?”

 

She looked like she was going to refuse but finally nodded her head.

 

"You wanted to see me,” he said, getting up to get her a glass of water.

 

Her eyes followed him. "A board member of Wayne Enterprises is missing. Douglas Fredericks."

 

He sighed, pouring filtered water in the glass and handing it to her before speaking. "File a missing persons report. It's a mess, Miss Kyle, but we're trying."

 

Her hand tightened around the glass. "His daughter and three-year old granddaughter are at the clinic near Crime Alley. They have nothing, Commissioner, and no one but him to turn to.

 

She added the sob story quite well.

 

"He was one of the board members Bane took to authorize the nuclear bomb,” she continued.

 

Gordon frowned. "If that’s the case, it could be a lost cause to search for him."

 

"I don't think he's dead. Fox had been taken, too, and he’s live and well." She bit her lip, the hesitation on her face clueing him in.

 

"Where do you think he is?" Gordon felt a prick of warning in his chest. Did she know something else about the case? He could understand her position, if so. No doubt she wanted to avoid getting into more trouble with the law than she already was.

 

"The tunnels." She paused again, took a few sips of water. "With all due respect, I don't think your policemen have actually looked everywhere that they can, Commissioner Gordon. I have an old friend who, let's just say, bides his time well. You don’t want to cross him. He gave me these pictures that he took weeks ago with a built-in camera in his jacket."

 

She handed him a flash drive, and he was impressed by the firm decision in her eyes.

 

He took the drive. “And does this count as crossing your friend?”

 

“I’ll take my chances,” she murmured, setting down the glass. "I have to go."

 

His brow raised in surprise. "You're not going to help me find him?"

 

"I've done all that I can. I have something else to tend to."

 

"That's more important than reuniting a lost grandfather with his three-year-old granddaughter?" Gordon cocked his head.

 

She nodded unapologetically. "Yes."

 

He could push her, but out of respect for the Batman, he didn’t. "Alright. I’ll get right on it."

 

"Thank you," Miss Kyle said. "I'll be in touch."

 

She stood, and was halfway out his window when she paused and turned around. "I wasn’t even eighteen when the Joker terrorized Gotham,” she said, hand resting on the window as she crouched.

 

"You saw." Gordon couldn't imagine what she'd thought at the time, seeing the twisted face of the Joker and the dark, powerful form of Batman behind him. Nor of anything else that had gone down all those years ago that had been hinted at in the footage. "It seemed a lifetime ago, until I pulled this up. Batman scared me, I admit. I thought he was going to...well..."

 

Gordon sighed, knowing that finishing his sentence was unnecessary, especially for one as intelligent and quick as Miss Kyle. She'd heard every word, seen the evil pouring from the Joker as he’d planned the perfect punch line for his joke on the Batman.

 

"Why did you watch that?” she murmured. “Why now?"

 

He shrugged. "Detective work? Hindsight? The kidnapping hadn't just been about Harvey Dent. It had been about the Batman. I never knew the depth of the Joker's psychopathic behavior until now. Miss Dawes and Harvey Dent had been mere pawns the Joker had used to destroy Batman. He almost succeeded, I think. Eight years, Miss Kyle, and when Wayne walked out of his manor for the first time, he still carried that limp. The injury he'd sustained after either fighting the Joker or saving my son from being murdered by Dent...and falling several stories. Why? Why did he never get it treated?"

 

The woman's eyes glittered dangerously. "I don't know."

 

Gordon had a pretty good idea, though. Grief did strange and unimaginable things to someone.

 

"Why are you digging up his ghosts? He's dead,” she sneered.

 

Gordon startled, picking up on Miss Kyle's nuances - the clenching fingers and especially, the subtleties of emotion behind her harsh words.

 

"Can't you leave well enough alone?” she hissed. “Let him die in peace?"

 

"No,” he stated calmly. "Batman did more for this city than you could ever know, but what is important to me as I help pick up the pieces of Gotham is learning more about the man underneath the cape and cowl. That's what I intend to do, because the Bruce Wayne as I knew him...he was another mask, Miss Kyle. Aren't you the least bit curious?"

 

"I saw no more than you," she said, laying on the sultry voice.

 

Gordon dug deeper at the tiny crack in her facade. "You obviously saw more." He nodded, remembering her hasty kiss on Batman’s lips before he sacrificed himself for thousands. "Maybe you could tell me sometime what you thought of him. Anything, really. I miss my friend. We’d been a team."

 

Miss Kyle inhaled sharply, seemingly in an indecision. She slid off the window ledge and silently made her way to stand a few feet from Gordon. She lifted off her mask, eyes blinking widely and oddly vulnerable.

 

What she asked Gordon next was a gift, pure and simple.

 

She sighed. "What do you want to know?"

 

_________________________

 

Selina placed a neatly wrapped package by Bruce's bedside the next morning. She'd chosen this gift, one she'd been tempted to steal last night rather than purchasing, with Bruce distinctly and fully on her mind. Considering she was giving the gift to this noble man, who now slept peacefully on his good side, she'd refrained from thievery. For his sake. She’d wrapped a piece of 'borrowed' newspaper from the waiting room snugly around the small token, and it hadn't been hard at all to find a piece of ribbon. Selina reminded herself that returning the ribbon, which now embellished the gift, was as equally important as honorably purchasing the gift for Bruce. However, Nurse Beth's secured locker would not be hard to break into a second time to slip the ribbon back into her purse.

 

Selina smirked. Only the ribbon. The earrings, she’d discovered, were surprisingly valuable.

 

She cautiously brushed back that stray lock of hair that fell across Bruce’s forehead. She was gentle in her touch, not wanting to awaken him. When he shivered in his sleep, she brought the cover over his chilled arms. He'd had a better night, one free of migraines, but that was obvious even without Leslie's recent report.

 

Selina gave just as much thought to why she'd read Bruce so well in such a short time as she gave to the way she’d brushed the hair from his face. An insignificant amount, for it terrified her.

 

He looked well-rested, perhaps had slept the best he'd had for days and, for all she knew, months. He hadn’t even moved a muscle since she'd arrived fifteen minutes ago.

 

Bruce lay serene and unhindered by his limited memory, and Selina found herself falling harder for a man whose very last thought of her was painful and bitter. It hurt each time she faced him, but not because he laid blame where it was due. It hurt, because of the hope with which he looked at her. His hope that she’d stay, be more. The hope she didn’t know how long she could give. It hurt, because his consistent reaction each time he saw her reinforced how good, noble, and honorable he was and that her very existence had, so far, depended upon her ability to lie, cheat, and steal.

 

He awoke an hour later, and she was ready, perched on the window sill beside his bed, reading, but waiting more than reading. The slumber not yet gone from his eyes, Bruce's silence was a bit disconcerting. She closed her book and slid off the windowsill, settling onto the chair close to him, giving him a soft smile.

 

She almost allowed herself to think that he remembered.

 

"Where am I?" he finally asked.

 

"Dr. Thompkins' clinic," she said, hovering over him as he erupted into a fit of coughing. "Would you like some water?"

 

Bruce coughed again, shaking his head. She kept her hands at her side when he fell into a stony silence, just staring at her.

 

She inwardly sighed, suspecting that she was in for a long night with him. "I'm going to help you into a comfortable sitting position, Bruce, then I'll get your water." Like she'd done a dozen times already- because, in truth, she had- she helped him lay on his back, now supported with pillows. As he frowned down at himself, becoming aware of his wounds, she pressed the button to ease the bed into an easy recline. He blinked at her, several times, eyes teeming with sleep.

 

"You're helping me, Miss Kyle?" he asked, the breath taken out of him after that much work alone.

 

“Yes.” She set down the cup on his bedtray and moved it carefully over to him. He took a few sips and looked around his room with a frown.

 

Watching him quietly, she placed the ever-thickening folder on the tray, absently caressing the cover, wishing that it was his hand, instead, or any other part of Bruce Wayne, for that matter. Her attraction to Wayne had grown, becoming a ridiculous, insatiable problem. Especially now that she that seen that footage the previous night. After leaving Gordon's, Selina had wandered into a store to find a gift for Bruce only because she’d been shell-shocked by what she had seen. It hadn’t taken long for her to piece together the mysterious, crippled man she'd first met with the one who'd emerged from his hiding place only to join her, dancing, and then to the man who had sacrificed himself for Gotham. He'd loved and he'd lost - immeasurably.

 

He frowned. "Bane? The bomb?"

 

"Gotham is safe, thanks to Batman. Your identity is safe, Bruce. You told Leslie you wanted to stay buried." She pulled the newspaper clipping from the folder that showed Batman flying the bomb out over the bay. Leslie had instructed her to stay on task, and as hard as it was to remain matter of fact, she had to shoved her desires aside and focus on repairing the man before her.

 

His eyes roamed the paper, gaze falling on the headlines. "Is this paper recent?"

 

"Yes, Bruce,” she said carefully, mindful as he appeared even more tense receiving this information than any other time. She fingered her cell phone in her pocket, preparing to text Leslie that he seemed extremely unsettled.

 

"February," he said tightly, his face dark in self-made shadows. "I don't remember coming back, Miss Kyle. The last thing I remember is climbing out of a prison in India."

 

Selina lifted an eyebrow. "India?" The location of the prison was new information. So, he'd come back after being halfway across the world.

 

He nodded crisply, gaze fixated on the paper. "It was an ancient place, a pit called 'hell on earth.' Bane took me there and dropped my broken body on a cot."

 

Selina's breath caught. She didn't want to hear anything that reminded her of her betrayal, but Leslie had asked her to get him to talk about recent events in hopes that he would be able to regain his memories. "Go on."

 

"He wanted me to watch Gotham's desolation, knowing I couldn't do a single thing to help my city. A man, one of my caretakers, punched in my vertebrae, then forced me to hang by a crude strap for weeks.” He scowled. “Maybe months, I don't really know. I stayed that way until my back healed and I could stand on my own and walk. I couldn't fail. I had to get back to Gotham in time. It consumed me for months. I was finally well enough to make the climb, but I failed. I tried a second time, and failed again."

 

It was as many words he’d spoken in one sitting and, by far, the worst of his experiences she'd had yet to hear. Nauseated, Selina swallowed and took a moment to balance herself. "How did you escape?" She was proud of the way she hardly stuttered.

 

"I found the key." It was a cryptic answer. His expression darkened more, alluding that the key had been nothing physical. "I found it, and that's all I remember. My memory, Miss Kyle. It's gone, isn't it?"

 

If she had been an emotional woman, she would’ve cried. "Your short-term memory, Bruce,” she said gently, “and pieces since you left India." She leaned forward, the clenched fists barely suppressed at his side and the eyes that now expressed more anger than confusion hard to miss. "But there is good news. Dr. Thompkins believes your short term memory will return in time."

 

"How much time?" Bruce barely waited before she was finished to ask.

 

"A few more weeks. Maybe several months."

 

He closed his eyes, and ran his hand through his hair. "Miss Kyle. How long...how long have I..."

 

He didn't finish. Neither would he look at her. She worried as his dark expression intensified by the second. She wondered how she should reply. It was the worst brooding spell she’d ever witnessed. That day he shot the arrow at her had nothing on this. It unnerved her, and Selina wasn't one to be taken aback by much, if anything at all.

 

"How long have you been at the clinic?" she asked.

 

"Yes," he growled, in that masked, rasping voice of his.

 

Cheekily, she almost asked him if he wanted to don his cape and cowl, but his hand moved to cover his stab wound, as if he were in pain, and she held her tongue. "This is the sixth day, but the fourth day you've been awake."

 

A colorful string of what she assumed to be curse words in French slipped from his mouth. And then words in Italian. And then...

 

"So, you know French, Italian, and what other language did you just curse in?" she asked with dry amusement.

 

"Bhutanese," he grunted, eyes tightly shut, his hand frozen against his injury.

 

She sighed. "It would be a good idea for you to stop brooding-

 

"I'm _not brooding."_

 

Selina rolled her eyes at his inflection and continued, not missing a beat. "...so we can talk about more important things, like what exactly happened to you, including your most recent injury, which clearly bothers you right now, and what we need to do to get your memory back. _Therapy_. We don't have much time until we begin this conversation all over again, Bruce."

 

"We?" His posture wilted. "Do you mean by 'we?' What do I have to do? Who's we?"

 

"We is you, Mr. Wayne," She altered her voice to perfected sultry tones, determined to draw him in like a siren does her sailor-man. "...and me."

 

He opened his eyes at that, her words nudging the harsh line of his mouth into a smile, if one could exaggerate. She waited, and sure enough, it was the small smile Bruce Wayne had given her when he’d visited her in Old Town. Although she'd aimed for the brilliant grin he’d shot her yesterday, this would suffice. She couldn’t help but feel smug that he’d fallen for her voice alone, and that had been what had opened his eyes.

 

“You...and me?" he asked haltingly.

 

"Yes, and we'll start you off with this." She placed the folder on his lap.

 

"Why?"

 

Selina sighed. He hadn't even looked at it. "It explains everything, and every time you forget, we have to go over it. Someday, you'll begin to remember, but we have to be consistent, Bruce."

 

He cocked his head, eyes boring into hers. "Why did you stay?"

 

She wasn't ready for his blunt question. Time was precious for Bruce, and she wanted nothing better for him than a complete recovery, no matter how much it pained her to move on from the fact that he’d just realized she'd stuck around solely for him. "Please, start from the beginning...and then we'll talk about that, okay?"

 

He gave a terse nod.

 

“Good.” She handed him the package next, inevitably brushing against him as she transferred it to his lap. In one smooth movement, Bruce had grabbed hold of her hand before she even saw it coming.

 

She let herself fall onto the bed beside him.

 

"Didn't you want to start over?" He peered intently at her, grasping her hand as if it were a lifeline, too, not just her words. She didn't like being manhandled but she couldn't lie to herself. She'd wanted him to reach for her. "I don't understand. You stayed. More than that, you're here, with me, a man who has a shortened memory span. Selina, I'm a dead end for you."

 

His words chilled her. "No,” she said firmly. She didn’t want to make a big deal out of her decision to stay, but she wouldn't stoop to this. Agreeing with a man far too humble to see he that he really wasn't a dead end. "You're not,” she insisted. “This is merely a bump in the road for you. Didn't you just tell me that you escaped prison? And you returned half-a-world away to fight Bane for your city? Not only that, that you escaped a bomb? And, yes, I'm staying, but don't read too much into it, Wayne. I missed my bus once before to play nurse to an injured rodent."

 

"There is more to you," Bruce commented, studying her face. "I knew there was."

 

"I'm here because I am certain I can help you."

 

"Of course you are," he quipped, the smug look on his face nothing short of annoying and the joy on his face altogether too tempting. He touched her face, his hand caressing her cheek and eliciting all the desires she had tamped down for his sake while he tried to find the parts he'd lost of himself. As his hazel eyes searched her eyes, her cheeks, and then her lips, she could hardly breathe for the anticipation. It wasn't hard to see where Bruce wanted this to lead.

 

Selina stared at a crossroads. One path led them along the straight and narrow, the other wound them both dangerously around unfamiliar territory. One guaranteed never hurting Bruce, the other was sure to break down her own walls. One would satisfy a desperate longing, the other would only intensify her desires well beyond her control.

 

"Don't," she said firmly. "You won't remember, Bruce. It won't be fair to you."

 

"Selina, that may be the truth, but I know what I want now." His eyes gleamed. "I want to kiss you, Miss Kyle."

 

"No, Bruce." She had to make him understand. "I won't use you like this."

 

"You're not using me. I know what I'm doing."

 

Was he _trying_ to make her beg? "Bruce-"

 

"I trust you." His fingers brushed her chin in a familiarity that she greedily embraced.

 

"Only one kiss," she broke, no longer fighting her attraction. She moved closer, leaning into his touch, wanting to look at him in the eyes, as if that alone would help him remember what she was about to say. "And then, I promise you, Bruce Wayne, never again, not until you are well on your way to being able to remember when you kiss a woman."

 

She lingered a breath away from his lips, a small part of her reveling in the anticipation that shone in his eyes, that she’d put there. Bruce quickly closed the gap and captured her mouth with an ever-deepening kiss. His hand cupped her hip, his fingers gently squeezing her flesh. She willingly moved forward - she’d dreamt of this long enough - and his body brushed against hers in a way that sent her senses through the roof.

 

Bruce fully claimed what he wanted, and then some, his hands as possessive as his lips. This was dangerous, and Selina would let it go only so far, for it wasn't beyond Leslie to stop in without warning. For now, she luxuriated in his taste and his ardor for her. As their tongues met and their hands explored for far too short a moment, she silently begged his forgiveness.

 

She had every intention of breaking her promise. For if he wanted to kiss her again, who was she to deny such a simple request made by the hero of Gotham?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure if I mentioned this in any of my notes so far, but I wrote these first chapters more than three years ago. I’m beginning to realize how awful they truly were! LOL! I literally gutted this chapter this week, and then doubled the word count. Hopefully, everything has turned out for the best. One of my goals has been to develop the supporting characters with more care, especially Jim Gordon, and I’m excited to extrapolate on the Bruce and Gordon friendship as we continue, too. 
> 
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> After going over this rewrite a few times, I realized that I should perhaps warn for dubious consent of a very “shallow” nature (non-sexual), just to be on the safe side. 
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> 
> Again, I apologize for any typos. If you see them and feel like pointing them out so I can fix them, please do so kindly. Due to a few cognitive issues that I have, I’ve been known to make some weird mistakes. ;)
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> Happy reading!

From the moment Bruce had first laid eyes on her, Selina Kyle had gotten under his skin. Simply put, if based on the few times they’d met alone, she drove him to insanity. He wasn’t sure if it was their shared past and the way she’d stolen from him that made his blood grow hot or his insatiable attraction to her and the fire in her spirit that had pushed him off the deep end.

 

He couldn’t get enough, and he was, unashamedly, growing desperate for her to respond to him in the way he imagined.

 

She had kissed him back with equal fervor, but only for a moment. That passion had been enough to increase his desire for her to an impossible, almost painful, level. She held herself back as if she were letting him take the lead, or, perhaps, hoping that he’d stop.

 

He longed for more, the liberating feeling that would come with her absolute consent. Hoping that she’d respond to him again, he trailed kisses down her cheek to her neck, smiling to himself in satisfaction when she quivered ever so slightly underneath his lips. It surprised him that his kisses would rattle her at all.

 

"Mr. Wayne," Selina whispered, the words hot on his ear.

 

"Hmm.” He swept her hair off her shoulder, nudging her shirt across her bare skin, and kissed her collarbone, pausing when he inhaled the faint scent of vanilla. And jasmine. It reminded him of his travels, the years he spent in self-exile in his youth, the sights and culture as beautiful and captivating as Miss Kyle.

 

Her fingers lingered at his back. She kneaded the muscles there, the first response since she’d stopped returning his kisses. "Bruce."

 

"’Lina,” he hummed, and rested his head against her shoulder as if he had every right to do so.

 

He had no idea how he was going to control himself, or if he wanted to abstain. Something about her unhinged him until he had no reason, no other goal except to pursue her. His hospital bed might not be the best place to act on these feelings, but it wouldn’t be the only time he’d taken a great risk.

 

"Don't you think you better stop?" she suggested, unexpectedly the voice of reason.

 

He smiled to himself. Did she really want him to answer that? "Not yet.”

 

“Wayne,” she said. It sounded like another protest, but she found his mouth, gently biting down on his bottom lip.

 

There it was. Pain, mixing with pleasure. It was what he thought he had been waiting for from her, a prelude into this dance they performed so well together. A thrill-seeking but poetic chase. “Another minute,” he whispered against her lips. “Need more. Of you.”

 

Selina stiffened. “Bruce.” She pressed her hands against his chest, one palm resting at his heart. "I'm serious."

 

He smiled. “I can be serious, too. In fact, Alfred tells me on occasion that I’m too serious.” He ignored both her and the silent, nagging voice inside his head that she was right, choosing instead to satisfy his craving for human touch. He didn’t pause to analyze this need he had, or perhaps has had all his life, thanks to his childhood trauma and the great lengths he took to avoid being in a real relationship in which he was forced to lower his defenses.

 

He was taking advantage of her presence, her warmth, and comfort, but he couldn’t find it within himself to feel guilty. “Please.” He barely hesitated when he realized he sounded like he was begging. She’d seen him at his worst. Losing a bit more pride wouldn’t hurt. “Stay.”

 

There was a pause, a soft sigh that settled in his ears as a firm ‘yes.’ “You’re hard to refuse, handsome.”

 

She embraced him as if he were glass, breakable and fragile. He supposed he was, to a point. Especially now. But he threw caution to the wind, strengthening his hold.

 

It wasn't enough for him, any of it. He wanted her all to himself, just like this, everyday for the rest of his life. He was getting ahead of himself, bordering on becoming a ridiculous romantic, but he couldn’t stop planning it in his head. It was partly Alfred’s fault, who’d longed for Bruce to settle down and give him grandchildren. But it was mostly his own fault, lowering his defenses like he had. Not only that, but Selina had caught him when he’d been most vulnerable.

 

He vaguely wondered if she’d always have this effect on him. He hoped she would. It would make his life much more interesting. Exciting. Something finally living for.

 

When he finally tangled both of his hands in her hair, not one inch of her neck had been left to be explored.

 

She inhaled sharply when he nipped at what must have been a sensitive spot. "Wayne, you’re pushing the limits here,” she murmured, but she leaned into his touch. “Leslie could walk in on us at any moment.”

 

"So?" he murmured, glancing up through his lashes to smile at her. "We're adults."

 

She rolled her eyes. "That's exactly my point, Mr. Wayne.”

 

Though his name was smooth and fitting on her lips, and conjured a new fantasy in his mind, her tone held a hidden edge that bothered him. He came up for air, searching her face, but for what, he didn’t know.

 

When he saw the affection for him reflecting in her eyes, he nearly sagged in relief. "But I like kissing you." He smirked. “And so do you.”

 

She gave an exasperated huff. "Mr. Wayne, it's not a question about not—"

 

He could sense the exact moment in which he lost sense of his surroundings. Hadn’t that always been his weakness, according to Ra’s? Funny that he should slip up now. His ability to focus on anything she was saying was swiftly failing. Her words faded, the sound of her voice becoming a faint, garbled noise in the background that he could not decipher.

 

Something was wrong.

 

His clarity was gone.

 

The wind knocked out of him.

 

He had no idea what. Or who. Or how. Only that he was here.

 

This... _lapse_ —it couldn’t be happening to him. He wasn’t weak like this. Not now. Not ever. He was drowning in broken pieces of his life, blindly reaching for a single, recent memory that would explain what the hell he was doing here, but he couldn’t catch hold of even one. He couldn’t keep his frustration at bay, or fight back, his thoughts crippled by a thick, mental fog that muddied his good sense.

 

He would never be able explain to anyone what had happened, and he wouldn’t even remember what had happened after it was said and done, either. It, whatever it was, would be gone.

 

The loss of control was a punch to his gut, hitting him at his lowest, or close to it. Stuck in this bed for at least one good reason, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Bile crept up into his throat. That feeling, along with the overpowering haze, forced him to draw back from her embrace. He hunched over, one arm wrapped around his abdomen, gritting his teeth and tamping down the rising nausea with sheer will.

 

He refused to make a fool of himself in front of her, but it was no use. His concentration was wrecked, his ability to focus destroyed, and he didn't know why. He had nothing left to do but try to process his situation like Batman would, leaving “Wayne” behind. He relied on instinct, fighting to ground himself and back his mind away from what felt like a powerful vacuum threatening to pull him into a darkness he thought he’d experienced before.

 

He reminded himself that he’d been trained to deal with situations that seemed beyond his control. He’d proven to himself and others that he could overcome the impossible. He had no doubt that this one of those times.

 

He went over facts, one by one, not that he knew which facts he had to go over. But he had a feeling that he’d depended upon this process before. That fact counting was something he did, repeatedly.

 

Therapy, they'd called it. _Therapy_.

 

His heart pounded in his chest, too fast, too hard, making it almost impossible to swallow, or even breathe. As a detective, he thought (for the most part, anyway,) logically. He knew how his mind worked, and it had never been difficult for him to maintain a clear head. It was a low blow to his pride when he mentally tripped over every single fact, his effort to sit upright and feel human when all his body was telling him to do was to give up also acting against him.

 

He stubbornly picked through what he could.

 

He had a bed. A fairly uncomfortable one, at that. He must be at a hospital.

 

Gotham was safe. The city had to be. He was her protector. He wouldn’t stop to do this, convalesce, if she was in need of saving.

 

And Miss Kyle...Selina...was helping him. He’d thought better of her before, and he was rarely wrong, so that made sense, too.

 

His memory was also faulty, or he wouldn’t be struggling like this, would he?

 

He’d been injured. Sadly, that was the clearest thing of all. The pain of injury, ravaging his side and knees, his head, as real as the woman who was in his bed.

 

Maybe he didn't remember how he'd been injured, but he was here with Selina, and that was all that mattered.

 

He went over the facts like he knew they wanted him to, clinging to them despite a gut-wrenching anxiety. He rarely felt fear, if ever. He’d turned that into anger, hadn’t he? It was ironic that he was experiencing fear in a way he’d never experienced it before. It was a shroud of panic, clawing at him with powerful, unrelenting fingers, holding him down, suffocating him with all its strength.

 

He responded on instinct, coming up fighting with what he had. And what he had was her.

 

Thief. Criminal. Beauty. Mystery. Passion. Unpredictable. _Adaptable_.

 

He curved his hand over her slender arms until he had her in an iron grip. He told himself it was the only way he’d feel grounded, but there was another fear, lurking and unbidden.

 

There were no promises here, not between them. A cat and a bat. She could leave him, too.

 

Like Alfred.

 

The anxiety and sorrow he was feeling quickly morphed into pure panic, strengthening his sense of self-preservation. Parts of life were missing, too many to count. And if he couldn’t remember how he had gotten here or why she was there with him to begin with, most likely this wasn’t the first time that he’d slid down this mental rabbit hole.

 

It baffled him.

 

It terrified him.

 

It was painful and humiliating.

 

A thousand questions died on his lips, not that he would’ve asked her any of them. He was in survival mode, self-reliant and stubborn. In essence, relying on his Batman persona to get him through...whatever it was that was keeping him tethered to this bed.

 

Selina was the only concrete evidence that he wasn’t crazy. She was here, a fact that he repeated silently to himself because it seemed to regulate his breathing. Soon, the familiar scent of her hair and her skin slowed his racing thoughts, too.

 

And though he hardly knew her, didn’t dare ask her to stay to fix this for him, her presence grounded both him and his pathetic existence.

 

But only for another moment, until he was confused beyond comprehension again, beyond what he could handle on his own, and there was nothing he could do to change it.

 

"No," he muttered, denying it with all that he had. This couldn’t be happening to him. There was too much at stake. He felt it in his heart. He couldn’t give up, he wouldn’t let himself give up. “No,” he insisted again, and when he completely draw away from this warm body next to his and see who it was that he was holding and who was holding him—he was still in denial.

 

He was shaking.

 

She looked at him like he was a stranger. “God, Bruce,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry… You…you don’t deserve this. Not as Wayne, not as Batman. If anything, I do.”

 

His eyes widened, his nerves fraying more when he heard her actually want to take the blame for this chaos in his brain. He shook his head, stopping when pain drove into the space behind his eyes. He squinted at her to block out the light in the room. “No,” he said, his voice cracking when it never cracked. “Not your fault.”

 

“Bruce,” she said. As hazy as his mind had become, he saw the concern settling in her eyes and heard her professional, detached voice.

 

These things were unfamiliar to him, hardly fitting the image he’d had of her.

 

“Selina?” he asked. He wanted to ask why she was so worried, but her gaze sharpened, her calculating eyes sweeping over his body from head to toe.

 

Was it his imagination, or did guilt flicker in those eyes, too?

 

“It’s me,” she said, wrinkling her forehead in more concern as she peered into his face. She palmed her hand against his forehead like his mother had done whenever he’d been sick as a child. “You’re burning up again,” she said testily. “This isn’t good.”

 

It was strange how her words confirmed that all wasn’t right in his world. They simply relieved him and proved he wasn’t going crazy. “Again?” he breathed out. “I’ve had...been here...had a fever...before?”

 

He flushed when he realized how foolish he sounded.

 

Not that it was his fault. He just couldn’t remember.

 

Why couldn’t. He. Remember?

 

She nodded, and now he was certain about the guilt in her eyes.

 

It wasn’t like her, and the knowledge twisted his gut. He hadn’t felt this shaken in years, he thought. “S-Selina?” he asked, feeling far more winded than he’d been as a cripple in his manor. Had the fever she’d mentioned caused this? Or something else?

 

He wasn’t well. In fact, he felt like he could sleep a hundred years.

 

“You heard me,” she said, an unspoken plea in that one simple statement.

 

She wanted an answer. The right answer. And answer he didn’t have to give.

 

And the truth was, he didn’t feel up to playing games. He wanted to sleep. God, he was so very tired. He cautiously reached out and grasped her wrist, intending to pull it down from his aching head. He hated seeing the guilt in her eyes. He didn’t understand it. He’d endure this, whatever “this” was, on his own, to spare her.

 

He curled his fingers around her slender bone, but the unexpected throbbing behind his eyes caused him to weaken his grip, and his fingers hung loosely from her wrist.

 

“Bruce?”

 

The room tilted on its axis. He opened his mouth to tell her he thought was going to be sick, but the excruciating pain took his breath away and all he could do was spit out a ragged groan. He closed his eyes and clutched at his head with both hands, the next sound escaping his lips sounding nothing like him. It was hoarse and broken, and the image of a bat, beaten and its wings clipped for good, taunted him.

 

He heard a rustling of fabric, felt the shift of weight on the bed and something bump against his arm. He opened his eyes wide enough to see an empty pan and it was the only clue he needed.

 

After he violently lost what he thought was most likely his breakfast, Selina wiped his face like he was a child, then turned off all the lights. Heat rising to his cheeks, he slumped into her arms after she returned, too spent to hold on to the rest of his pride. Illness and injury weighed heavily on him, and he stared up at her, every breath he took laborious and requiring a determination and concentration he didn’t know if he actually had.

 

"Another migraine, Mr. Wayne?” Selina murmured, every stroke of her fingers along his forehead like fire. “I’m sorry.”

 

He cursed. The fact that Miss Kyle was apologizing to him, when it never suited her to do so, meant that things were bad. Very bad. “Am I dreaming you’re here?” he whispered hoarsely.

 

"Not quite,” she said softly. “I’m here because you’re unwell. You’ve had these before…”

 

He had?

 

“I should let you rest,” she whispered.

 

“No,” he gasped, not wanting to be alone when he was so confused. “Stay.”

 

She sighed and, to his relief, didn’t leave him. By now, his entire head felt like it was being cracked open by a ice pick. He clenched his jaw involuntarily, bending beneath the pain, dependent on her to keep him from falling suddenly on his side.

 

She pulled him towards her, and he could do nothing but follow her lead, leaning forward as she guided his head against her shoulder. He stayed there, limp from exhaustion, a new ache blossoming in his body that he couldn’t explain. Why did his back hurt so much?

 

Without knowing why, Bruce apologized. "I'm sorry,” he forced through clenched teeth, every syllable driving a pick into his head. “S-sorry.”

 

"Don't be. I enjoyed myself, Mr. Wayne."

 

Her response didn’t make sense to him. "No, I'm sorry...I..." He stopped. Why was he apologizing? 

 

He hadn’t mean say that out loud, but he couldn’t take it back.

 

She inhaled sharply. “You don’t remember, do you?” she said.

 

“Remember what?”

 

“We kissed, Bruce, here. Last week.”

 

He didn’t remember kissing her? That didn’t make sense.

 

“I’m sorry,” he rasped again, for no other reason than it felt right to say so.

 

"No, Bruce. Don't apologize,” she murmured. "Just be still."

 

Screwing his eyes shut, he was at a loss for words. He had too many questions to even begin asking Miss Kyle. For now, it wasn’t worth the effort.

 

"Bruce, do you know?" The pity in Miss Kyle’s voice crippled him as much as the pain did. “Do you remember anything about the past few weeks?”

 

When had she ever sounded like that? Was it his fault? What had he done?

 

She felt safe to him, but that couldn’t be right, especially if he’d wronged her somehow. It was a contradiction. A joke at his expense.

 

It seemed as if these mysteries were all he had left.

 

He remained still with his head tucked beneath her chin, not wanting to move from the physical and emotional warmth that her arms provided, probably not able to do so even if he wanted.

 

He was tired. His body hurt. He was bewildered beyond anything he'd ever known.

 

“Do you remember where you are?" Selina whispered, a thread of hope in her voice.

 

Bruce weighed his answer, anticipating the distinct swing of a pendulum.

 

"No," he whispered.

 

The blade dropped.

 

___________________________

 

It took Selina nearly a week to finally realize that Bruce’s recovery would crawl at a snail’s pace, indefinitely.

 

She’d be lying to herself if she said things had gotten better as the days passed. Nothing was better. In fact, it seemed as if Bruce had taken several steps backward in his therapy, the intensity of his headaches unimaginable until it was all he could do to keep breathing.

 

She could hardly stand watching him suffer. She found herself staring blankly at him all too often, in fear that he was whittling away before her eyes, that there was something killing him in the process. He was losing weight, quickly, in fact. He barely kept anything down. The still healing stab wound was at risk for infection, and he was forced to wear a back brace that he clearly hated and took off every single damn time he woke up without a clear head. He was too weak to get out of his bed, but if he were strong enough, he’d have sore knees to contend with.

 

But she never let these things, or his brooding, stop her from holding his hand when he could stand being touched. Or stop her from feeding him ice chips between episodes, one at a time.

 

On days that he was partly lucid, understanding the state of his mind and body, the tension between them always thickened. Bruce never took to hearing his prognosis well at all and therapy proved challenging for them both when he was in one of his moods. Something had to give, but she didn’t know what.

 

An entire week passed before Leslie approached her with a possible solution. "You need a change of scenery. Both of you.”

 

As when they had to discuss Bruce’s condition out of his earshot, Selina stood in the hallway with Dr. Thompkins, right outside their “patient’s” door. She stared at Leslie in disbelief. The doctor was usually right, but taking Bruce anywhere, especially beyond the closed walls of the clinic, in broad daylight where the public could see, was out of the question.

 

“No,” she countered stubbornly. “It isn’t safe for him.”

 

"Yesterday was rough on you, Selina, and it shows when you work with Bruce,” Leslie admonished her. “I don't know what happened, but it's clearly causing this strain between the two of you."

 

"That’s my fault, not his," she answered truthfully.

 

It never got any easier witnessing Bruce despair over his unraveling memories. That he’d forgotten how they’d held each other in their arms affected her more than she wanted to admit. Although he failed to recall their risky make out session, she would never forget the bewilderment on his face or the demoralizing, emotional strain that his lapse in memory had caused.

 

Guilt ridden, Selina had backed away from him that same day, and every subsequent day, which could have done more damage. He wasn’t responding to therapy like he had before, nor was he responding well to Beth’s care. With years of experience under her belt, it wasn’t surprising that Leslie was the only one who had noticed that Bruce had regressed in his recovery.

 

Leslie shook her head. "Don’t blame yourself, Selina. And trust me when I say that a change of scenery would do you good."

 

"And where would we go, exactly?"

 

"Outside," Leslie said, motioning to the window.

 

It was snowing again. Selina sighed. Of course this was Leslie’s plan. "I don’t own a winter coat.”

 

Leslie smiled. “I'll grab something warm from the lost and found for you to wear. I think there may be a winter coat about Bruce’s size and a few pairs of gloves, too."

 

"He can hardly sit up for any length of time without hurting,” she said pointedly.

 

"Ten minutes is all you both need, Selina. Trust me.”

__________________________

 

Gordon stood in the tunnels, a half-mile from what had been Bane's centralized, working area. He’d asserted a personal interest in this search to ensure his ongoing presence during the operation. More than a dozen police officers, ten of whom were from surrounding cities, had commenced their search at dawn nearly a week ago. It hadn’t gone well. The pictures Miss Kyle had given Gordon had proven to be a dead-end. But Miss Kyle had been certain these would lead them to Fredericks, and he couldn't ignore the gut feeling he had, telling him to trust her. They had to keep looking. They were running out of time before they had to call it quits and resume other work in Gotham that would have to take precedent.

 

Refusing to give up just yet, he motioned to his men to to try again, this time with a fine-toothed comb to find every nook and cranny in what the papers were calling Gotham’s Underworld. He had to give the press credit. It sounded a hell of a lot better than Bane’s Tunnels.

 

Whoever had taken the photos had been in the thick of things, perhaps a mole right under Bane's nose. Even if they weren’t helpful in finding Frederick’s, they’d still be useful in other ways, that much was certain. Gordon turned on his heel, backtracking the way he'd just come, the short conversation he’d had with Miss Kyle weighing heavily on his mind.

 

" _He was a quiet, crippled, bedraggled man when I first met him, Commissioner."_

_"Bedraggled?" He was impressed, if not amused, by Miss Kyle’s antiquated twist on words._

_"He wore a robe over his clothing, a solemn expression, and a goatee," she shrugged._

_His eyes shot up. He just couldn’t imagine. Bruce Wayne, as the suave playboy or his alter-ego, with facial hair? That was a bit strange, but it made sense the more he considered how Wayne secluded himself from the world. Gordon watched her carefully. There was more to that flippant remark. Something emotive and guarded._

_She sniffed. “Well, what did you expect from a guy who shut himself in his stuffy mansion for years?"_

_In truth? Gordon didn’t know what he’d expected. But after realizing how much pain Miss Dawe's death had caused Wayne, he found that it wasn’t so hard to believe after all._

_"Turned out that he was Gotham’s own Robin Hood,” she continued._

_It didn’t sound far from the truth. “Let me guess,” he said dryly. “Batman’s an archer, too?”_

_She smirked. “He surprised me with a damn arrow. He surprised me every time I saw him.”_

_"How?"_

_"He rose to the challenge. I never expected him to, because that wasn't the Bruce Wayne I'd read about in the papers.” Miss Kyle tilted her head, lost in thought. "He treated me fairly even though he had every right not to. He offered me a way out of the life I had, and I took it. A little late. But I took it.”_

_"That explains why I can't find a single record of you in our database or otherwise.”_

_She nodded. “Yes.”_

_"You've...changed." It gave him hope for the rest of Gotham. Bane’s occupation of the city had brought out the extremes in people. There’d been no in between. Every citizen had had a choice. Good or evil._

_She shrugged, making no further effort to continue the conversation._

_But he wanted more information to satisfy his curiosity. "You stayed in a Gotham because...?"_

_She glared at him. "Look, are we talking about Wayne or not?"_

_Sensing that she’d leave if he pushed her too far, Gordon backed down quietly and steered the conversation back to Wayne. "He learned all of his skills in prep school?"_

_"Try years of traveling the world and intimately case-studying criminals by immersing himself in their world, and being trained in...." Her voice faded._

_"Miss Kyle?"_

_"If he could," she smiled wickedly, "I'm sure he'd explain the rest, but that's all I have."_

_No doubt it wasn't all she had, given her response, but Gordon wouldn’t push her. He'd have to mull over this information enough as it is. Wayne, immersed in the criminal world? Wayne no doubt had become a criminal to understand them at their deepest level. The very idea fascinated Gordon, and he longed for another chance to talk to Wayne, face-to-face._

_Selina turned. "I should go."_

_"Where can I reach you, Miss Kyle?"_

_"It's not Selina Kyle anymore.”_

_“You’re using an alias?”_

_She nodded. “Catherine Asher.“ She hesitated. "I'm assisting Dr. Thompkins at her clinic on Crime Alley, the same place Fredericks' granddaughter is being treated."_

_"I'm pleasantly surprised to hear that, Miss Kyle."_

_"You don't pull any punches, do you Commissioner?" she said. "No wonder Bruce trusted you."_

 

"Sir! We found the door!"

 

The triumphant cry crashed through Gordon's thoughts, and he quickly made his way down the tunnel towards his men, certain he'd be able to pay a visit to the clinic later this very day. He’d personally inform Catherine Asher that she’d helped to reunite a family. If she could just see how much good she could do for Gotham, maybe she’d stay.

 

He wasn't mistaken. Douglas Fredericks, along with twenty other first-class, wealthier citizens of Gotham that Bane's men had herded together, stumbled out of forced hiding from behind thick, soundproof walls. All were surprisingly able to walk out on their own accord. Considering how they'd been forced to live for weeks, underground with barely enough food and water, it was no small miracle.

 

Gordon took a seat beside a frail, bearded Fredericks right outside the tunnel entrance, waiting for the older man to realize he wasn’t dreaming, that he had, indeed, been found. While Fredericks lifted his face to the sky and soaked in the faint sunlight peeking through the clouds, Gordon called Dr. Thompkins' clinic. He alerted the receptionist that he was bringing someone who would require emergency care.

 

After he ended the call, he offered Fredericks a small smile and patted his shoulder. "Mr. Fredericks, how would you like to see your family?"

 

________________________

 

Bruce couldn’t believe that Leslie had allowed Selina to take him outside the clinic, even if “outside” meant a mere twenty feet from the side door. Apparently, he was having a “good day.”

 

He thought he could live with this, for now, anyway. Living such a redundant life in close quarters wouldn’t be so bad, as long as they’d been correct in saying that he wouldn’t even remember his world shrinking.

 

As disconcerting as that was, he couldn’t help but feel content with his current lot in life. He had to do his best to look on the bright side. He was alive, had someone who cared enough about him to watch over him. It had to be enough.

 

He glanced up at Selina and smiled. "This is nice. Thank you, Miss Kyle,” he said, relishing the fresh air and the ribbons of sunlight on the snow-covered patio.

 

It made him think of Ducard and his training, the memory eliciting a wave of regret. He had found out who his mentor really was before it was almost too late. At least he could hide behind Leslie’s sunglasses while he brooded over that fact for the millionth time in his life. He wasn’t up to answering questions about his obvious irritation. Selina had told him how behind he was on current events a minute ago, and he had to admit. He was a little shell-shocked to learn that Gotham was out from under Bane’s rule. That Selina had stayed. Not to mention, the moment he silently realized that he must still be estranged from Alfred.

 

His father’s absence hurt. He didn’t know if he’d ever get over how they’d parted, what he remembered of it, anyway.

 

The bitter wind whipped his cheeks, reminding him that they were outside. They were alone, thanks to Leslie, who had cleared the entire area for their little excursion.

 

"It’s too cold,” Selina complained.

 

“It is not,” he countered happily, if not to egg her on. “I love snow.”

 

“You would.” She rolled her eyes and burrowed her way between the wall and Bruce's wheelchair, no doubt trying to escape the cold.

 

He grinned up at her. "I climbed a snow-covered mountain in Tibet in the clothes I'd worn in prison. Now that was cold.”

 

She frowned at him. "Of course you climbed a snow-covered mountain," she muttered, rubbing her hands together. “And of course you did it in rags.”

 

“I never said they were rags,” he pointed out.

 

“You didn’t have to.” She sniffed, tugging on her gloves. “You had been in prison. You climbed a mountain. Rags.”

 

He shrugged. “They were a bit tattered, now that I think about it.”

 

Although he’d made sure she wore the heavier pair of gloves, and she’d almost refused them before caving to his request, she was still cold. Next, he narrowed his eyes on her coat. It appeared to be well-insulated, but the low temperatures were chilling, the wind more so. No wonder she was trying to shield herself from the elements.

 

Guilt pricked him. He’d agreed to this outing without thinking. The snow had finally stopped falling and combined with the rare sunlight, the idea had been too tempting. He’d wanted to see a liberated Gotham set in its winterscape from the other side of the window.

 

"You probably swam the English Channel naked in the winter, too,” she muttered.

 

He fought a smile. "I wouldn’t go that far. That requires superhuman strength and resilience.”

 

She lifted her gaze, eyes searching the clouds. “You mean Superman?”

 

He firmed his jaw, sitting in stony silence. Just hearing Superman’s name made him uncomfortable. Bruce believed it made many people uncomfortable. The hero was part myth, part ghost. If he were real, if the rare reports were true, where had he been at Gotham’s most needful hour? The more he thought about it, it irked him that someone who’d had the power to make a difference simply hadn’t.

 

“Maybe we should go inside,” he said quietly as he mood plummeted. So much for staying positive. “We don't have to stay out here. It's fine. I admit my tolerance for cold weather is quite high.”

 

It had been ever since he left Gotham to parley with criminals, and especially since he'd trained with the League of Shadows.

 

The League of Shadows.

 

Miranda.

 

His stomach knotted with unease. He couldn't quite put a finger on it, but her memory bothered him.

 

Selina sent him a strange look. “What’s wrong? Did Superman get you down?”

 

“I’m just confused about a few things that happened,” he admitted. “And tired. We should go in. You’re cold.”

 

“No, you need this," Selina muffled through her scarf. "Leslie was right, Bruce. I know you can't remember this, but you've been stuck indoors for days."

 

What? "How many days?" he asked, shocked.

 

"Close to two weeks."

 

“Oh.” He winced. All that time, and then some. forgotten. It seemed impossible. It was depressing.

 

She sighed. “I didn’t mean to be a downer. This was supposed to be fun.”

 

"It’s not fun when you're cold. Here." Bruce lifted the blanket off his lap and handed it to her. "I was trained to withstand lower temperatures."

 

She rolled her eyes. "I don't need your smug chivalry, Mr. Wayne."

 

"Selina, please, take it." He frowned, belatedly realizing that she’d reverted back to calling him Mr. Wayne. He took off his sunglasses and narrowed his gaze on her. "What's bothering you?"

 

"What makes you think something's bothering me?"

 

"I..." He paused, carefully considering how he should proceed.

 

Her body language gave her away, but she probably wouldn’t like the fact that he could read her so well. She wouldn't meet his eyes and hadn't since that one nurse had attempted to take her place with him outside.

 

“Stop looking at me like that.” Selina clenched her hands and stuffed them in her coat pockets.

 

“I just have a feeling."

 

She shook her head. "You can't possibly know that something is bothering me."

 

But he did. “Selina,” he said softly.

 

"You can't know." She locked her jaw and lifted her chin, her spirit showing. “You may be Batman, but you’re no mind reader.”

 

Compassion flooded him, but he simply sat. Just watching. Just...waiting.

 

"Oh, don't look at me like that." Selina tore the blanket from his grip, her eyes spitting fire at him.

 

“Like what?”

 

"Fine. Something is bothering me but I don't want to talk about."

 

"Fair enough." He’d let it go for her sake.

 

As far as he could remember, Leslie had buffered the tension between the Selina and the nurse during their “spat.” She’d diverted the nurse's attention by telling her about another patient who had broken both arms while falling out a window, which had been tragic, in his opinion, but the nurse had gotten a silly smile on her face. Though he knew Leslie had only informed her so to prepare her for when she checked in on him, the nurse’s reaction had been bizarre.

 

What kind of nurse actually enjoyed hearing about a patient’s pain?

 

He shivered and refused to dwell on it. Maybe it was a good thing he couldn’t remember the nurse's name, after all. He was relieved that, for the most part, Selina was there to care for him.

 

Selina wrapped the blanket around her body. Happy that she’d taken his suggestion, Bruce shifted in his wheelchair. He enjoyed being outside, but he had a feeling that he - or rather his aching knees and back - would pay for it later on. The cold air already wasn't doing his body any favors, as much as he thought he could take it.

 

She sighed. "You're fidgeting. Any pain?”

 

"It’s tolerable," he said, barely refraining from rubbing his knees.

 

"Bruce, we should go in.” She scowled, eyes sharpening on his twitching fingers. "It's been five minutes already. I don't want you to have a setback."

 

"Please, can we stay? I want to be out here. Besides, you and Leslie bundled me up like a polar bear.” He grinned. “It's just a little pain in the knees, nothing that I've not had before." As if to defy him, his body screamed at him to rest. He relaxed his face to keep from grinding his teeth together, and pulled out the gift that Selina had given him earlier. "Besides, it's the perfect time to open this."

 

She looked relieved. “I thought you’d forgotten about it.”

 

“Not yet.” Under her watchful eye, he took his time unwrapping the package. He held it in his hands for a moment, first, stunned that she’d actually given him a gift. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d received a gift. Of course Alfred bought him something every time his birthday rolled around, and at Christmas, but he was family and didn’t count. Smiling to himself, and very aware that she was staring at him with undisguised amusement, he finally pulled at the ribbon and the wrapping paper, the trimmings falling to his lap.

 

He thought she’d say something, tease him about taking so long. But she didn’t. Still, her silence didn't deter his enthusiasm. Who was he to talk? He was guilty of being just as quiet. He assumed he brooded just as much here at the clinic as he had at the manor or his penthouse.

 

When he saw what he’d given him, he was speechless. “I don’t know what to say.”

 

“It’s a journal,” she said. “To help you with your therapy.”

 

He stared down at the gift in his hands, a pink journal covered with black cats, bewildered at how thoughtful she’d been.

 

She was a enigma. Not only had she stayed, she was helping him in any way that she could, going as far as gifting him a journal in which he could write notes about his stay at the clinic and more. A man holding a journal covered in a pink and black cat print might look completely ridiculous to most people, but he wasn’t most people. To him, it was completely appropriate. It touched a part of him that he’d closed off long ago.

 

"It's perfect for all those notes I have to take,” he said, fighting the tears pricking the backs of his eyes. “This...this will help me remember that you’re here with me.”

 

A soft, noncommittal sound came from Selina, and he froze. That was it. This is what she’d wanted to happen.

 

Awed, he reverently slid his hand across the cover. She'd come to care whether he remembered her or not. She wanted him to remember her. What did that mean?

 

"It will help me remember,” he repeated, vowing that he would never forget about her again.

 

"Maybe."

 

"I want it to," he said honestly, reaching for her hand. "It will.”

 

Her mouth thinned. “You don’t know that, Bruce.”

 

“I know,” he insisted. “Selina, thank you."

 

For a split second, they fumbled as they held hands, like awkward teenagers on a first date. Their fingers eventually tangled until it seemed right, and they stared at each other like adolescents on the brink of a significant, age-old discovery.

 

It was ironic, if anything. Neither of them were quite this awkward with other people, even on a romantic level. Bruce Wayne was suave and Selina Kyle was adaptable. But it didn't matter. He was happy, and even though she never cracked a smile, he was certain that she was smiling underneath the mask she always wore.

 

He didn't know what to think when she inched closer to him, or when they held hands until her nose was red and her cheeks completely flushed. What he did know was that it felt wondrously elemental and so very, very right.

 

_____________________________

 

Gordon slipped out of Mr. Frederick's room at the clinic, eager to see Miss Kyle and inform her that her good deed had not gone to waste. Frederick's daughter had spoken highly of her. Apparently, not only had "Cat" provided him with the information to find Mr. Frederick's, but she’d also dropped off a small gift for his granddaughter this morning, making quite the impression. With a smile that lit the room, Cora had proudly showed Gordon her new pink journal covered with black cats.

 

Gordon missed his own children and the years that had passed without seeing them as often as he'd liked. They’d grown up far too fast, and so he'd indulged himself, visiting Fredericks’ family longer than he’d anticipated.

 

It was yet another reminder that his wife had been correct when she’d told him Gotham was his mistress. And now it was time for him to return to her, Gotham, and what she demanded of him. Batman was gone. There was no one else.

 

Before his spirits dropped completely, he walked up to the receptionist. Both women at the desk ignored him.

 

He cleared his throat.

 

One of the women looked up at him, frowning at him as if he’d interrupted her dinner rather than the job she was supposed to be doing. “Yes?”

 

“Excuse me. I’m looking for Catherine Asher. Do you know where I could find her?”

 

"Cat?" the other woman asked, her eyes widening as she stood.

 

He estimated she in her late twenties, her smile charming and light. “Yes, that’s her.”

 

Her smile broadened as she hugged a stack of charts to her chest. "I know just where to find her. She's always with the same patient. Follow me."

 

"Thank you."

 

“No thanks necessary. I’m glad to help,” she said. “I’m Nurse Beth, by the way.”

 

“Commissioner Gordon.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Commish.” The nurse’s smile was cheery, now too bright if he were to be honest.

 

He noticed right away, as she walked ahead of Gordon, that her steps weren’t steps at all. She was nearly...skipping, a hop to her stride that one couldn’t miss. He fought a smile and mentally adjusted her age. Maybe she was several years younger than he’d originally thought, perhaps a hopeful intern.

 

“Cat’s never had a visitor before, so this will be good for her,” Beth chattered on. “She works too hard, but the same could be said about me, too, and Dr. Thompkins most of all.”

 

That made him pause. He’d forgotten, for a moment, that the clinic had more patients than beds could fill. “I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

 

“Oh, no,” she said, waving her hand as she dismissed his concern. “You’re not causing any trouble at all. I wanted to check on Thomas soon, anyway, so you’re doing me a favor. I never liked talking to Martha much.”

 

"Thomas?" Gordon quickened his stride to keep up.

 

She stopped in her tracks and, as if slowly realizing he was behind her, turned to face him. "Oh,” she blushed. "Right. I can't divulge patient information. Sorry. I’m usually much more professional than this.”

 

“No apologies necessary.”

 

She smiled and began to walk backwards, of all things. Gordon prayed she wouldn’t run into the wall, but she seemed to have a sixth sense about where she was going and missed crashing into it at the last second. “Anyway, as I was saying, it's just down here. She hates to leave...um...her friend...for anything during the day, so maybe you can talk in the hall.” She made a face and spun around on her heel, her stride unusually long and swift for being a petite woman.

 

He didn’t have trouble keeping up with her this time, but he wished he’d worn different shoes.

 

“I mean, I understand why,” she rambled. “Dr. Thompkins said she knew him from a long time ago, but still, there rest of us are certainly capable of caring for him.”

 

Gordon lifted an eyebrow as they approached a darkened hallway blocked by heavy, double doors. “This is a patients’ wing?”

 

Why weren’t they using these rooms if they had an overflow in the rest of the clinic?

 

She shook her head. "Oh, we keep this area of the clinic very quiet, and even though we're spilling at the seams. You see, the equipment is far too outdated. Dr. Thompkins doesn't allow any of our other patients in this wing. Only one. Thomas.”

 

He mentally scratched his head, wondering why Thomas was so special, or if he had agoraphobia.

 

She used her key card and entered a four digit PIN number to open the doors, smiling back at him several times.

 

He smiled weakly at her, wishing she’d just hurry up.

 

“You okay, Commish?” she asked, scrunching her nose.

 

“Been a long day.” Not to mention that her incessant chattering tried his patience.

 

Following her into the darkened corridor, he took careful stock of his surroundings. Strangely enough, compared to the rest of the clinic, this section was vacant and and eerily quiet. Even though Dr. Thompkins had assured him earlier she was not harboring criminals, the seclusion gave Gordon pause. If anything else looked suspicious, he may have to have a serious talk with the doctor, or get a search warrant.

 

"Wait here," the nurse whispered, stopping Gordon several feet away from one of the rooms. She knocked on the door. “It’s me, Beth,” she called out softly.

 

Soon, a casually dressed Selina Kyle cracked open the door. She’d changed her leather suit for jeans and a rumpled t-shirt. Her expression was strained, especially as she realized who’d knocked on the door. Gordon would go as far as describing it as excessively irritated.

 

He would be irritated, too, if someone as flighty as Nurse Beth interrupted his work. He considered himself a friendly guy, but his patience for sunshine and roses had dwindled since Barbara had left him.

 

"You have a visitor, Cat,” the nurse announced.

 

Selina shot her a heated glare. "It’s not a good time.”

 

“But I brought-“

 

Selina seemed to change her mind, interrupting her. “But since you're here, Thomas needs a good dose of painkillers."

 

Nurse Beth blinked. “Oh, no. Another migraine?"

 

Selina‘s frown deepened. "It hit him like a freight train not too long ago, shortly after we came in from the patio. He’s nauseated beyond belief."

 

Beth's countenance immediately changed. It now bordered on condescending. “I had a feeling going outside would be too much today. I’ll have to discuss this with Dr. Thompkins.”

 

“Being that he has several migraines or headaches each day, I doubt that it caused this particular one,” Selina said through clenched teeth.

 

Beth pulled her shoulders back. “You’re not a nurse, may I remind you. You don’t know these things like I do.”

 

“Not this again,” Selina muttered, rolling her eyes.

 

Gordon backed up a step. He could smell it in the air. A showdown between the two women. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be in the middle of it when it happened.

 

“I’m adaptable,” Selina said sweetly.

 

Beth shook her head. “I highly doubt you’re qualified to treat Thomas on your own.”

 

“I don’t see how arguing is going to help him,” Selina huffed. “It’s a waste of time.”

 

“I agree.” Beth smiled tightly at her. “I'll see what I can do, and if the normal painkillers.” She slipped past Selina and through the door, into the room.

 

Selina sighed. “Why can’t she just leave him alone?” she muttered under her breath.

 

He cleared his throat. “Miss Asher?”

 

She met his gaze, schooling her features. Gordon could see that he’d caught her off guard, but he wasn’t sure why. She'd given him the name of the place and knew he’d want to talk with her.

 

“Commissioner, I only have a minute. My cousin needs me.” Miss Kyle swiftly pulled the door until it was open a crack.

 

Gordon caught a partial glimpse of a black-haired, bearded man lying on a bed, elbows in the air as he clutched his head. He couldn’t see his face, but he could tell by his posture that he was in great pain. “Oh, I didn’t realize he was family.”

 

“We’ve been estranged. I don’t like to talk about it,” she said.

 

She moved in front of him, blocking her cousin from his sight, her cheap, pasted smile only provoking Gordon's curiosity.

 

“I see,” he commented politely.

 

"What can I do for you, Commissioner?" she asked.

 

"It’s Fredericks. We found him along with about twenty others about two hours ago."

 

Her expression changed to genuine relief. "You found Mr. Fredericks?"

 

"Alive and well enough, considering the circumstances,” Gordon said. “I brought him here to be treated by Dr. Thompkins."

 

"That will be convenient, since the rest of his family is here,” Miss Kyle said.

 

“I should say so.”

 

Her fake politeness didn’t bother him, now that he could see the exhaustion lining her face, the way her shoulders rounded with responsibility. She rubbed her eyes before sighing. "You’re sure her father is alright?"

 

"He needs to be monitored for a few days, given his age and the state they found him in, but yes, he’ll be fine."

 

"I think that Bruce...Mr. Wayne...would be very grateful." Miss Kyle blinked and glanced back at the closed door behind her. "I hate to make this short, but I should get back Tommy."

 

"Your cousin...will he be alright?" he questioned, genuinely concerned.

 

He was also genuinely curious. His gut told him this was no ordinary patient. It couldn’t be if he had kept a thief from skipping town, a woman whose face had been plastered all over the news after she’d kidnapped a senator.

 

He wasn’t sure he should think too hard on the answer, for it could go either way. Was she aiding a criminal? Or was it...could it even be….him?

 

He mentally shook his head. Batman had clearly died. There’d been no autopilot. And even if Wayne was alive, wouldn’t he tell Gordon instead of leaving him in the dark? He’d revealed his identity to him, after all.

 

He decided to dismiss the mystery and any false hope it conjured. It was best if he remained focused and left Selina alone. He didn’t want to call attention to her. She had more than made up for her most recent crime. And though that absolutely wasn’t his decision to make, he wouldn’t press her, not if there was a chance that she would change her mind and stay and help.

 

"Someday," she assured him, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. "He will be as long as I’m her e to help him."

 

"You’re committed, then."

 

"Right now, I have to be." With that, she dismissed him.

 

"Miss Asher," Gordon attempted one last time. "Will you rethink my offer to help us?"

 

Selina’s hand hovered over the doorknob. "I really can't, Commissioner. I'm needed here."

 

"I understand, but if anything changes, you know where to find me."

 

She nodded and stood by the door like a guardian, making no move yet to enter the room.

 

Getting the distinct sense she wanted him to leave before she opened the door, Gordon thanked her again and exited the hallway out of respect. As he left the grounds of the clinic, his steps leaving hollow footprints in the snow, all he could think about was his friend. His partner.

 

A reclusive Bruce Wayne, his life destroyed by Rachel’s death and Harvey’s demise, holed up in Wayne Manor, year upon year. His despair draining him of every last bit of hope he’d once held so dear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews will definitely feed my inspiration! ;) Thanks so much for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit that I’m really surprised I was able to post again so soon. I don’t have a good track record with that. ;) Hope you enjoy the newest chapter. :)

Gordon couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something after he talked to Miss Kyle. But he didn’t have time to think about it again, numerous appointments and phone calls, that he couldn’t just hand off to someone else. The national guard had stepped in, since Gotham was in a state of emergency, but eventually they’d leave. The rest was up to the department. Replacing the many brave men and women they’d lost in the fight for Gotham was proving to be a challenge, as was continuing to protect their homes from the criminals who had escaped Blackgate. Who would even want to come here, to this broken city rising slowly from the dust, and fight the crime, the evil, that had killed the Batman?

 

After Bullock found him asleep in his office, with his head on his desk and drool on his calendar, he reluctantly took the rest of the day off.

 

Ironically, the second he stepped into his home he was wide awake again. He hated the thought of heading to his office again, now tasting a bit of freedom away from the chaos. He refused to take the sleeping aid his doctor had prescribed him, instead alternating between pacing and mindlessly watching television, eventually losing even more sleep to the mystery of Thomas.

 

He found himself wide-awake at two in the morning and poured himself a cup of coffee and pieced together the clues right in front of him for the upteenth time. Was he reading too much into Miss Kyle's unconvincing performance? She was a thief, excelled at disguises and lying. He knew better than to take what she said at face value.

 

He’d have to investigate, if only to put to rest the idea that Wayne was alive.

 

He compared the mental image of the bearded man in the hospital bed to the reclusive Bruce Wayne he'd also imagined. It didn’t seem possible, but he was certain they were one and the same.

 

Gordon heaved himself in a chair in, staring down at the floor disbelief. With a self-deprecating laugh, he slapped a palm on his kitchen table. The answer had been in front of him the entire time. His own grief had stopped him from making a bittersweet discovery.

 

He snorted into the silence of his house. Bruce Wayne was alive. Batman was alive. His partner.... _alive_.

 

But although Wayne was alive, he was not alive and well. The thought sobered him and grieved him almost as much as thinking Batman was dead. He didn't know the extent of Bruce's injuries. Wayne could be facing a very long recovery. If that was the case, the thought of Wayne not having more support while he recuperated from the fight with Bane and the blast was more than disheartening and he filled with pity for his broken state.

 

Although his mind still reeled with the discovery, he finally fell asleep for a few hours on his couch. When he awakened, he quickly dressed, grabbed a bagel on the way out of the door, and texted his secretary that he’d be late this morning.

 

He wouldn’t be able to do anything for Gotham today without speaking to Wayne first, and headed straight for the clinic.

 

He arrived the minute the doors opened. The same receptionist, Martha, was working at the front desk. She got up from her seat grudgingly but promised she would tell Dr. Thompkins that he wanted to speak with her right away.

 

It took all his control to stay put and wait. He wasn’t sure if Wayne wanted him to know that he’d survived the blast, or if his knowing would scare Miss Kyle off and ultimately away from Wayne’s side.

 

And that was the last thing he wanted to do.

 

The doctor approached him in the empty waiting room, looking as tired as he felt. “Commissioner,” she said warmly. “I wondered if you’d be back.”

 

“I’d like to speak to you about Thomas.”

 

“I see.” She smiled. “Well, I’m sure I have the news you’re looking for.”

 

His hope rising, he followed her into her office.

 

"Have a seat, Commissioner." Dr. Thompkins regarded him quietly as he took the chair opposite her desk, her expression reminding him of a mother bear protecting her cubs.

 

Gordon knew, then, without a shadow of a doubt, that his partner was Thomas.

 

“Bruce Wayne is alive.” Gordon shook his head. If he’d been smart enough, or working on a full night’s rest every day rather than the short naps to keep functioning, maybe he would’ve looked here for Wayne in the first place. He’d known there’d been a past attachment to the clinic.

 

After a newly orphaned Bruce had been left in the care of Mr. Pennyworth, Gordon had continued to keep close tabs on the child until he became a teenager. Bruce's guardian had taken him to the clinic to visit Dr. Thompkins several times a year. Gordon had assumed that Mr. Pennyworth had cared for the doctor, but nothing came of it. Both had remained unmarried.

 

“Yes, he is,” Dr. Thompkins said softly.

 

He laughed, his head dropping into this hands in another wave of numbing relief. “He's here,” he whispered. “He's alive."

 

"That may be the case, Commissioner, but you have to understand that he only wants Miss Kyle and myself to know he survived that bomb, not even Alfred.” Dr. Thompkins paused. “The fact that I am discussing this with you is breaking my confidence with him, but I assumed you would find some way to confirm your theory, and I was right. I decided it would be better if I discussed it with you first.” Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Before you tried to break into his room and crash their party.”

 

“I had considered it.”

 

“Selina was concerned you'd figure it out.”

 

Gordon considered the implications of that statement but pushed his disappointment aside. Whatever Wayne wanted. Gordon wouldn’t get in the way. "He wants to remain...hidden."

 

"He wants to move beyond all of this,” she clarified. “Bruce Wayne is dead. It's a complicated situation."

 

"I understand."

 

"No, Commissioner. You don't,” she said sharply.

 

His eyes flickered with surprise.

 

“Forgive me,” Dr. Thompkins said, a blush rising to her cheeks. "I think I understand how Alfred felt.”

 

Gordon frowned. “Pardon?”

 

“Alfred couldn’t bear to see his charge sacrifice so much, only to suffer, but he always did what Bruce needed him to do, even if he didn’t like it, because it meant that Bruce would endure,” she explained. “He cared for him as a father as much as possible. And, now, I suppose I’m filling that role. Bruce has a long road ahead of him.”

 

“What happened to him?”

 

“He suffered a traumatic brain injury which has affected his memory.”

 

He hadn’t expected that. “Does he remember saving the city?”

 

She shook her head. “No, not at all. Although I haven’t asked him outright, I know for a fact that he doesn't even remember that he’d told you who he was, Commissioner.”

 

He grimaced, knowing, then, that he’d taken a few steps backwards in his future friendship with Bruce Wayne. “I see.”

 

“He doesn't remember anything about the day Batman saved Gotham. Not only that but other pieces of his life are missing. Even if his injuries were healed, I couldn’t discharge him. His short term memory has been too impaired for him to adapt to life on his own without medical care and daily assistance.”

 

His heart dropped. He could only imagine what this would do to a strong, independent man like the Batman. “Will he regain his memories?” Gordon asked, but it wasn’t hard to come up with the answer on his own. He’d seen enough as a cop through the years to understand the serious nature of TBIs.

 

“We’re working with him daily. Several times a day, in fact, but his progress has been quite slow.” Her eyes brimmed with sadness, revealing more lines on her face. “So slow that I’m concerned his memory loss will be permanent."

 

The information was a punch in the gut. He wanted to argue with her that she was wrong, but he understood how the world worked. And for heroes like Bruce Wayne, tragedy followed them like it did anyone else.

 

“I’m so sorry.”

 

“So am I.” She hesitated, then gave him a pointed look. “I haven't told Miss Kyle my concerns, nor have I discussed it with Bruce. Now that I've told you, I expect you to understand one more thing."

 

"I’m listening,” he said.

 

“As his physician, I’ve seen the delicate balance in which his mind and his physical body are in firsthand. He doesn’t need another complication, or more confusion. Since he’s unable to process important details about the past six months, he can’t deal with his emotional trauma well, and everything snowballs until he’s stuck back where he started,” she said, smiling sadly. “A dark, dark place.”

 

“Can I do anything to help?”

 

“Just be patient with him, and those of us who are helping him. I hope he proves me wrong and his memory returns so he can piece things together on his own. I also hope he decides to tell you he’s alive on his own. But until then, Commissioner, and in the best interest of my patient, I cannot permit you to see him."

 

He hadn’t expected a logical decision like that to sting so much. "I see. And those headaches? Are those a complication?"

 

"They are.”

 

"You mentioned he’d sustained an injury. It’s safe to assume, then, that he has more than migraines and a faulty memory keeping him here?”

 

"He does."

 

When Dr. Thompkins failed to elaborate, he took his cue and stood to leave. He’d hoped for better news. A chance to see Wayne from a distance at the very least. But he wouldn’t complain. He was one of the very few who knew that Gotham’s savior was alive.

 

“I’m very sorry I can’t help you any more than this,” she apologized.

 

“I know.” He smiled gratefully. "Will you keep me updated?"

 

She nodded. "Come back in a week. I’d rather discuss his progress face-to-face. It may be best to keep our visits just between us, however. I don’t think it would be wise to tell Selina how much you know. She worries about him too much already.”

 

But waiting seven days seemed like an eternity.

 

Gordon would return in three.

 

___________________________

 

 

“Gordon has to be going out of his mind. Please go talk with him, Selina,” Bruce pleaded.  

“Like I just told you,” she said calmly. “No.”

 

Selina’s stubbornness frustrated Bruce, and he had a feeling this wasn’t the first time they’d squared off like this.

 

But he refused to retract his request. He had to get her to understand how important this was to him. "You need to see how Gordon is doing, Selina,” he insisted. “I know you don’t want to talk with him again, and I respect that. But, please, can you watch him from a distance? Please?"

 

“I already told you I wouldn’t do it.”

 

He sighed, his eyes falling on the paper he was holding and the headline at the bottom of the front page. He lifted his eyes and poured his frustration into one last plea. "I know you did. I just thought-“

 

"Not even for you."

 

“That wasn’t what I was going to say.” He barely refrained from crumpling the paper in his hand. “It says right here that tomorrow they’ll unveil the Batman monument. Gordon is already in the thick of things. And now this? He’ll have a hard time.”

 

“You don’t have to explain that to me. I get why you’re concerned.” She lifted one eyebrow. "And of course I’ll see him.”

 

Bruce furrowed his brow, hardly believing his ears. "What?”

 

“You know I’d bend over backwards for you right now,” she said. “I’d even rob a bank if you wanted me to.”

 

He set the paper on his lap and looked at her incredulously. “I’m that pitiful?”

 

She smiled sweetly. “Yes.”

 

He snorted. “So let me get this straight. You are going to do what I asked, go out in public when you’re still on the run from the law, find Gordon, and watch over him for me?”

 

“Right.”

 

He scowled. Now that he’d said it out loud, he hated how it sounded. “That's too dangerous for anyone, especially someone with a record like yours.”

 

"It was your idea, or did you forget already?"

 

"You told me a second ago. I don't forget things that quickly." Had she really agreed that easily? "You just...took me off guard."

 

“Don’t I always?” she deadpanned. "Look, Bruce, I’ve already talked with him several times. He doesn’t bite.”

 

As he thought about what she’d said, she slipped out of her spot on the windowsill in one graceful, smooth movement, landing on the floor with the grace of a cat.

 

He shook his head, confused. "You what now?"

 

She walked toward him. “If I write it down in your journal will you believe me?”

 

He knew he sounded like an idiot, but it seemed so unlike her, and he'd discovered that even though Selina was beyond capable, his physical and mental state frustrated him. He couldn’t be of any use in his current predicament. "Are you crazy?”

 

"Relax, Mr. Wayne.” Selina came behind him and draped her arms over his shoulders, her breath a warm caress along his ear. "I talked to him one night at his house to take care of some business. I’m sure he won’t mind if I stopped there again.”

 

As she kneaded his shoulders, her comment only partially registered. "Business?"

 

"Mm-hmm," she purred. "I might tell you why, if you promise to try to relax."

 

Her hands loosened knots in his muscles he didn’t even know he’d had. He tilted his head back, giving her a small smile with his eyes closed. "How can I relax when you're doing what you're doing?"

 

"And what is that, Mr. Wayne?"

 

"Distracting me.”

 

“I aim to please.”

 

“If that’s the case, you can keep doing that."

 

"One of your board members, Douglas Fredericks, was missing."

 

He snapped his head up. Massage forgotten, he turned his head to stare at her. “What? When? Not Fredericks. I like Fredericks. Always have. I hated letting him believe I burned down my own house. He was good friends with my Father. Selina-."

 

She covered his mouth with her hand. "Shh, Mr. Wayne,” she whispered. “Take a deep breath.”

 

He blinked. “What?”

 

“You’re rambling. Although it's equally adorable and unnerving to hear you like this, you're working yourself up. Relax so I can finish."

 

He wasn’t sure how he could, knowing the best man on the board was missing, but he closed his eyes and tried. For her. “Okay.”

 

Her hands fell on his shoulders, gently squeezing them. “Breathe.”

 

He did and slowly relaxed into her touch.

 

She made a pleased sound. "May I go on, Mr. Wayne?"

 

“Please do,” he said hoarsely.

 

"Mr. Fredericks' granddaughter is being treated here at the clinic. That's how I knew about this in the first place. I had a feeling he was being kept in the tunnels, and I asked a friend for photos I knew he'd taken not too long ago. I gave a copy of all of them to Gordon earlier this week. That very night he and a handful of police officers went down into the tunnels, but they didn’t find him until a week later.”

 

“Is he alright?”

 

“Leslie is taking good care of him here.”

 

"Selina." He struggled with what to say. Fredericks would have died without her help. "Thank you."

 

"You're not upset?"

 

"Upset? Why would I be upset?"

 

"I’ve kept it from you awhile,” she admitted.

 

He fought a grin. "Seriously? That’s why? You thought it would too hard to tell the man, who forgets everything, everything before he forgets again?”

 

Her hands stilled. “I had no idea you even had a sense of humor.”

 

“Blame Alfred for that,” he said honestly. “I couldn't exactly write about Fredericks in my journal, now could I? I wouldn’t want it to fall in the wrong hands and call attention to myself. It worked out. Don’t worry about it."

 

He grew concerned when there was a silent pause.

 

He frowned. “Selina?”

 

"He's all the family that his daughter and small granddaughter and daughter have, Bruce. I knew there was a chance Bane had moved a few of the wealthier citizens to a remote area underground. I’d heard rumors of it but never had solid evidence. I couldn't let that go once I heard he was still missing."

 

"No," Bruce said. "Of course you couldn't. You're Selina Kyle, defender of the weak."

 

She swatted his shoulders. "I think we're done, Mr. Wayne."

 

"I'm serious. I know you."

 

She moved away from him, the sound of her footsteps dimming from behind his wheelchair.

 

She was leaving? "Wait,” he blurted out. “Selina? I wasn't making fun of you. I really meant..”

 

He allowed his voice to fade, turning his chair around to find her.

 

He almost fell out of his chair in shock when he realized she hadn't made a move at all.

 

She wore a lazy smile, her face barely a foot away from his.

 

He scowled and was forced to tilt his head back in order to look up at her. He was off his game and she knew it. "Don't do that."

 

"Don't do what...Batman?" she said smugly.

 

He hadn’t expected to feel indifferent when she called him Batman, but he did. “That time is over. I'm moving on. I have to. I want to leave it behind.” He could taste the freedom. His injuries would heal, and his memory, and he’d walk out of here, leaving for good. “And eventually, Gotham, too."

 

Selina’s playful expression vanished. She stared at him, mouth gaping. "You what?"

 

"I had thought, of all people, that you would understand why I wanted to skip town," he mused aloud.

 

"It’s not that I don’t believe you. I do. But you’ve never said a word to me about moving on beyond Batman and Gotham since we’ve been here.”

 

"I tried to retire before. It didn't work out like I’d planned." That was a major understatement, but he didn’t feel like explaining it to her. “I think I was actually planning to leave again before…” He swallowed down his self-pity. “Before _this_ happened.”

 

He didn’t have to explain what he meant by _that_.

 

"You don't say?" She cocked her head, narrowing her gaze on him. "So what had you planned this time?"

 

Nothing came to mind, but he wasn’t under any illusion that he’d remember the details. He gripped the wheels of his chair, tension creeping up into his shoulders. “I don’t know. But I do know Bruce Wayne wants to remain buried.”

 

"It doesn’t matter if you can’t remember your plan, only that you do know what you want for yourself and your future.”

 

"It matters to me," he muttered, disgusted with himself. Maybe he wasn’t working hard enough in therapy. He’d have to change that, even if it killed him.

 

She threw him a wary glance, mouth thinning.

 

“What?” he asked.

 

"I think you should know that Leslie wants you to see a brain trauma specialist.”

 

“I can’t,” he protested. “If anyone sees Bruce Wayne, even Thomas Highland, my cover could be blown.”

 

“I don’t think you can worry about that right now.” She continued, not letting him get in a word edgewise. “You have no choice, Bruce. Leslie thinks there may be an underlying issue she hasn’t figured out.”

 

An “underlying issue” in his situation could mean just about anything. "Which specialist?" he asked. He knew several in his line of work, professionals he’s had to consult with in the past in order to stay alive, none of whom he trusted with this. But like she said, he had no choice. Not if he wanted his life back. “I'll do it."

 

She stared at him. "Just like that? You'll agree to it? You’ll have to fly.”

 

"What can I say, Cat? You inspired me. I'll do it."

 

Their eyes met. Her gaze softened, as if she was pleased with him. “Okay.”

 

He couldn’t look away. Something significant must have taken place between them to bridge the gap between their last meeting, when she’d betrayed him, and this moment in time.

 

He’d grown attached to her. He didn't want her to leave, and he didn’t want to go anywhere without her. He had no intention of seeing the specialist if she didn’t go with him.

 

Most likely he was setting himself up to be hurt. He was too attached, but he had no plans to run the other direction.

 

"Bruce, I think you should to write this down,” she said. “That way you'll believe me when I remind you.”

 

He reluctantly released her hand. “I’ll believe you.”

 

“You don’t know that.” She grabbed his journal from the bed and offered it to him. “Just in case.”

 

He gave her a steady look but grabbed the journal. “I would believe you.”

 

He turned the pages until he came to one that was blank. As he wrote, he repeated the sentence to himself. He didn't write anything about Fredericks. He honestly didn't know how to record it in the journal so that no one else would understand it but that he could make sense of it himself. He crossed his t's and dotted his i's with a flourish, then closed the journal with a snap. “There.”

 

She set it aside. "I'll let Leslie know you agreed. She’ll probably want to discuss the details with you later today but in the meantime, do you feel up to playing a game?”

 

“As long as it’s not a video game,” he muttered, adjusting his back against the chair when a jolt of pain went straight up his spine. “I can hardly look at my phone screen without it hurting my eyes.”

 

“Don’t worry, it’s not.”

 

“Go Fish?” he asked jokingly.

 

“Yes.”

 

His smile dropped. “Oh.”

 

“Don’t get too excited,” she said dryly.

 

“It’s just...Go Fish? Really?” He had bad memories of losing to Rachel when he was a third grader.

 

“Yes, really.”

 

Also memories of playing Go Fish with Alfred after he’d gotten into a fight at school. He’d lost to Alfred, too. He’d always gotten the feeling that Alfred had made him play as a morbid...punishment. “I hate that game.”

 

She smiled. “I don’t care.”

 

He made a face. “I’d rather play a video game, instead.”

 

“You might as well give in, Wayne.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a deck of cards, holding it up for him to see. “It’s either Go Fish or Old Maid. Something simple but difficult enough that will test your memory and your concentration. If you play nicely, I’ll let you graduate to Solitaire.”

 

“So you’re bribing me now?” he muttered darkly.

 

She patted his hand. “Of course.”

 

He winced, shifting his weight and leaning on his left elbow, which he’d rested on the arm of his wheelchair. "If I can rest for a little while first.”

 

Her eyes flickered over him. "Your back or your side?"

 

It was too painful to tell, so he just nodded.

 

“Both, then,” she decided. She pushed his chair to the side of the bed.

 

He’d been impressed with both her agility and strength before, but he couldn't help but notice that she moved the same way even now as she helped him out of his chair and onto his bed. “You’ve done this before,” he gasped, hugging the pillow she’d given him to his side.

 

Her face shadowed. “I had to...take care of someone in my family a long time ago. Plus, this isn’t the first time I’ve helped you move around a bit.”

 

The pain dizzying, he bit the inside of his cheek once he was wearing that damned black brace, flat on his back in his bed. Breathing raggedly, he looked down at himself, grimacing when he saw a damp spot on the front of his shirt. He’d worked up a sweat like he’d worked out, and all he’d done was get into his bed. “I...need a….shower,” he implored her.

 

She shook her head. “It would be too much, but Leslie can give you a sponge bath later.”

 

“You can’t?” He tried to sound smooth, like “Wayne,” but it required too much effort and he groaned through the words.   

 

“It’ll get better, Bruce,” she said quietly, watching him. “You do know that, right?”

 

After a moment, his body began to adjust to being horizontal again. The pain was still there, but he could tell a difference, especially in his back. He wasn’t sure he could believe that it would get better but he held his tongue. 

 

“I have one question before I let you rest,” she said, sitting down in the chair beside him.

 

He turned his head to look at her. “Just one?”

 

"What did you mean that you hated letting Fredericks believe you burned down your own house? The headlines clearly stated-" She stopped mid-sentence, staring at him. "Oh, my God. You faked your own house-death, too.”

 

He grinned though it hurt. "Maybe." He’d make her work for an answer. Turnabout was fair play, after all.

 

"Well, aren't you going to tell me?"

 

He looked up to the ceiling. Despite her questions, he couldn’t fight the heaviness in his eyes any longer and closed them. "For another massage I will," he said casually.

 

"It's a deal."

 

He cracked open one eye. "Maybe you should write it down so you don't forget," he deadpanned.

 

He saw her smile and felt like it was a gift. How could it be that his world had fallen apart, yet she’d opened up a part of him that he’d closed off for so long?

 

She shoved a yellow note into his face. “Here.”

 

He squinted, trying to read what she’d written on it, but the words were too close for him to make out. “What does it say?”

 

“‘Cat owes me one mean massage,’” she stated. “Make no mistake, Mr. Wayne, I'll give you a massage and in return you’ll tell me what I think was the next best cover-up in history." She pressed the post it onto the top of his notebook.

 

"No, that one belongs to Alfred,” he explained.

 

"Your butler is the mastermind?” She tapped her chin. “He does give off a sneaky vibe, now that I think about it.”

 

He snorted. "The Russian ballerinas I took on a cruise eight years ago? I wasn’t on my yacht long enough to get a tan. Instead, I caught a plane during that little excursion to catch a guy in Hong Kong and bring him back to Gotham."

 

"That was your _butler's_ idea?"

 

"Brilliant, wasn't it? But I was really disappointed that I never got to enjoy the company.”

 

“I didn't ask about it just to find out about your little dates."

 

"It wasn't a date, or many dates.” He paused and added in his signature, hoarse whisper, “I was being Batman.”

 

Selina’s mouth quirked at the corners briefly before she pulled her lips down in a mock frown. "You really have a flair for the dramatic, don't you? Back to your house."

 

It wasn't as humorous as the ballet, and it could've ended badly. Very badly. "When Ra's al Ghul came to Gotham to destroy the city with a fear and panic-inducing toxin, he and his friends first crashed my birthday party. I had to get my guests to leave, and I did with a drunken act, but it was at my expense.” He didn’t feel like smiling anymore and frowned. “Ra’s burned down my house and ruined Bruce Wayne’s reputation even more.”

 

If Selina was surprised, she didn’t show it. "You weren't drunk. You pretended to be intoxicated in order to save lives."

 

"I don't drink at all, actually."

 

"Of course you don't. What _do_ you drink? Ginger ale?"

 

"As a matter of fact, yes. Alfred keeps it on hand."

 

"Your house burned down on your birthday." She took his hand, gently stroking the back of it with her thumb. "Bruce, you have all the luck."

 

Bruce silently agreed. She was here, wasn't she? The very woman who'd gotten the best of him in more ways than one. Bruce expected her to leave sooner than later, but what mattered to him now was that she had stayed.

 

Bruce did, indeed, have all the luck.

______________________________

 

True to her word, Selina eventually excused herself from Bruce's side and made her way to downtown Gotham the next morning to find Gordon. She believed that cultivating the friendship she had with Bruce was as important as caring for him during his recovery.

 

She hated to leave him with Beth for any length of time, but her desire to make up for what she’d done to him was far greater than her other misgivings.

 

Bruce wrote discrete notes everyday, with the exception of Fredericks' kidnapping. The note about the Batman monument was a highlighted, newspaper clipping in his folder. With any luck, he’d figure out on his own that he'd ask her to check on Gordon before the ceremony. Although his injuries were severe, the brain trauma hadn’t changed who Bruce was at the core. In fact, he was connecting things better each day. The progress may be slow, but it was there.

 

Selina shifted her stance as Gordon made his way out of City Hall, accompanied by a member of the city council. She stood in the shadows, near several awaiting taxis. She didn’t need to wait in the shadows, her disguise an auburn wig, jeans, blouse, and a ballcap, but she wasn’t stupid. She’d exercise some caution.

 

Finding Gordon in broad daylight was a bit reckless, and went against what she’d promised Bruce, but when did she ever do things the easy way?

 

She waited until Gordon's acquaintance left in a taxi and strode up to the commissioner, easily matching his comfortable stride a comfortable.

 

He sideways glanced at her, and if she didn’t know any better, hardly looked unsurprised. "Miss Asher,” he acknowledged.

 

She stared straight ahead, fiddling on her phone. "How are you?” she murmured.

 

Gordon paused at the next storefront and stepped aside as a mother and child walked past them. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I don't know how to answer that."

 

Selina unwrapped the banana cream lollipop she'd brought with her with one hand, savoring the first taste. "And you don't have to answer it,” she said, shrugging. “I wanted you to know..." she thought quickly. "If you were having as difficult a time with this as I am.”

 

Hopefully she hadn’t revealed too much about herself. Bruce had become her weakness. Probably her only one.

 

Gordon’s gaze lifted. "That’s very generous of you to say, Miss Asher."

 

"I wish I could see be there," she said after another mouthful of banana cream. Would the statue be larger than life? Do the Batman justice?

 

Gordon inclined his head towards her, a small amount of shock in his eyes. "I could try arrange that."

 

As tempting as the idea sounded, she shook the thought away. "It’s probably best if you didn’t. I’ll read about our noble hero and his statue in the papers tomorrow.”

 

"Noble," Gordon murmured. "And Wayne?"

 

She hesitated before crunching down on the lollipop, destroying it. "What about him?"

 

He opened his mouth to speak, only to close it. "Four paid their respects. _Four_."

 

"It’s only a number. The people who mattered most to him were there." He acted like he hadn't heard her and stepped away. "Gordon."

 

He kept walking, hands clenched and his stride angry. From what she knew of the commissioner, this was odd behavior. It belonged to a man caught in the throes of grief.

 

After imagining how Bruce would react if he how upset Gordon was, she sighed and followed the grieving man.

 

"Five,” she called out as he hailed a cab. “There were five who paid their respects."

 

And if her voice cracked with emotion, he didn’t acknowledge it.

 

Gordon watched her, silence and secrets heavy around them.

 

She was tempted to fill the quiet with the news that would change everything, but she bit her tongue.

 

He tipped his head. "Thank you, Miss Asher, for caring.”

 

He stepped into a taxi, leaving without any real comfort from her, not that she was skilled in giving it. Not that Bruce was, either.

 

She watched the vehicle as it drove away, feeling as if the weight of the world bore down on her.

 

Somewhere along the way she had begun to think of Gordon as a friend. Yet Bruce deserved to have his secrets, if that was what he wanted.

 

She could see how costly Bruce’s secrets were, especially to his friends, but she would never betray him for a third time.

 

____________________________

 

“I know Miss Kyle is here.” Bruce rubbed his bare hands over his face in frustration, tired of arguing with the nurse. But it wasn’t like he had a choice.

 

The nurse had taken him through a darkened and vacated hallway before pushing him outside, in the middle of a light snowfall. It was just his luck that no one else saw them, and other than piles of snow, the patio was empty. He was on his own - and freezing his ass off. He wasn’t wearing a coat, or gloves. His attire consisted solely of a hospital grade shirt and pair of pants, and a pathetic pair of slippers. At least he had a small blanket draped over his legs. "Please, just find her."

 

"I'm sorry Mr. Highland, but I don't know who you are talking about."

 

The nurse's plastic smile grated on his nerves. Her feigned ignorance did, too.

 

Selina Kyle was here.

 

She had to be.

 

Why else would he be carrying around a small journal with black cats printed on the cover? He hadn’t had a chance to read it before hiding it under the blanket, out of sight. The nurse insisted on proving him wrong. She’d probably try to take it from him, especially if he was as weak as he thought he was.

 

"I need to talk with Dr. Thompkins, then." Bruce sighed wearily. "Inside."

 

"Ten minutes in the sunshine, doctor's orders," the nurse chirped, sounding unbelievably happy while her patient was clearly miserably..

 

Bruce eyed her with increasing irritation. "There is no sunshine, I'm cold, and I would prefer to go in."

 

She tsked at him. “Really, Thomas. I overheard you tell Miss Asher that you have quite the tolerance for cold weather. This isn't an attempt to make me bring you inside and get rid of me, is it, Mr. Highland?"

 

He rested his hands on the tops of the wheels, clutching the wheels in anger. “Of course not,” he gritted through clenched teeth.

 

Sick of her complacency, he pushed his chair forward.

 

The woman stopped the chair with her foot. "You're not yourself,” she said, leaning towards him, her face chillingly blank. “Why don’t you let me take care of you?”

 

He pulled back from her as much as possible, looking her over from head to foot, trying to find a weakness. "Not myself?”

 

She was petite and deceptively strong. He had lost weight and wasn’t as strong as he’d once been, thanks to injuries he didn’t even know about. He was at a great disadvantage. If he yelled for help, she might last out at him in her anger and hurt him. If he tried to take her down, there was a chance he’d fail, as much as he hated to admit it.

 

He didn’t believe a word she said, but even that acknowledgement seemed beyond his control.

 

"You brood, or so Cat says," she muttered.

 

“Where is she?” he growled.

 

The woman smiled. “Hm, isn’t this interesting to see you like this. If you must know, not that you’re going to remember this, your Miss Kyle had an errand to run."

 

His mind raced. How could he have been so stupid, mentioning Selina’s name? He had compromised her.

 

The nurse invaded his personal space, bending to look him in the eye with a chilling, bright smile.

 

He lifted his chin, meeting her direct gaze. “When will she return?” he asked, if only to keep her talking and distracted from what she might want to do to him.

 

“Don’t be be too worried, Mr. Wayne.” She twisted a strand of his hair around her finger,  
pulling it. “I get the impression that she can take care of herself. You, on the other hand, will not be so lucky.” Her eyes widened. “ _I’m_ not the one who wanted to hurt you.”

 

He flinched. “What do you mean?”

 

She tugged at his hair, wrenching it until it pulled at his scalp. He hissed at the pain and chased her hand down, trying to find the pressure points that would make her release her fingers. “Let. Me. Go.”

 

He found them and pushed.

 

She grimaced, losing her grip. “Ouch.” Her fingers slipped away from the small knot she’d made, and she sneered at him. "Just for that, it’s quiz time. Do you remember my name today, Mr. Highland?"

 

He hadn’t the slightest idea, but he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of playing along. “Where. Is. She?” he demanded.

 

The nurse’s expression flattened. "What's my name?"

 

There was no emotion on her face, no empathy in her voice. Was she another psychopath?

 

He ignored the chill that went down his spine and pierced her with sharp glance. "I have to have more notes somewhere. Where are they? Do I have a room here?”

 

"If you can remember my name, I’ll give you what you want."

 

"I do have more notes," he said, keeping his voice steady. "I would like to see them, please."

 

"I can tell you all that you need to hear, Thomas,” she promised.

 

“I’m sure you can,” he said smoothly. “I would love for you to tell me.”

 

She startled at his easy answer, eyes widening on his face in surprise. While she was distracted, Bruce rammed his chair into her legs, trapping her foot under the chair, causing her to hiss in pain.

 

"Move. Your. Foot,” he snarled.

 

She smiled, her lips stretching wide and baring teeth. "No."

 

“What are you playing at?” he hissed. “Just let me go.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

"I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

She looked at him suspiciously, then dropped her eyes.

 

He didn’t have to look down to see what she was staring at. Her foot was twisted, captured under metal.

 

Compassion _was_ his weakness. He firmed his jaw. “Anymore than I have to,” he spit out.

 

It was a lie. He would hurt her in order to get away. He’d have no choice.

 

“Tell me my name,” she said in a sing-song voice. "Why can't you remember something so simple? Oh, I know why!”

 

Her presence sickened him, much like the Joker’s had. He hated the way his body and mind responded to her voice, tensing and coiling, as if he subconsciously remembered her. She was a raging, feverish and obscure memory that reminded him his knees wouldn't hold his weight and his back, the brace he wore, would prevent him from standing straight. He wasn't completely sure about these things, but he assumed that since his knees ached just sitting here, he'd have a difficult time running away from this woman. Did he have enough strength to overtake her? Probably not, but he'd improvise.

 

"I know what you're thinking, Thomas,” she leaned in even closer, her foot forgotten. “It's in your eyes. You want me to tell you what I know.”

 

He pushed himself out of his chair with a loud grunt, a wave of dizziness jarring him as soon as he got to his feet. He tried to steady himself but there was only air around him. He was too awkward in his own skin.

 

The hesitation cost him.

 

She shoved him down with a growl. He stumbled and crashed into his chair, crying out. His head slammed into the brick wall behind him, his body slumping toward the ground. He blacked out. When he came to a few seconds later, he was in his chair again, backed into a corner while cruel fingers dug into his left kneecap.

 

He’d never felt such excruciating pain in his knee before. He gasped, seeing stars. “Stop.”

 

It seemed to fuel her actions, and she twisted her fingers around his injured knee, digging in even deeper. He froze, in agony, sweat sliding down his face, fighting to stay awake. If he blacked out again, there was no one around to stop her. She could do anything to him.

 

Grinding his teeth in rage, he reached out, but his limbs were too heavy and his movements too lethargic to make a difference. He intended to hook his arm around her neck, but he was too late, his arm simply floundering. She jabbed his thigh with a flashing needle, sending an oddly familiar coolness through his veins.

 

He flinched away, but the nurse caught his wrists and brought them down, securing them.

 

He struggled to get out of her grasp, furious.

 

His awareness was fading.

 

His body was weakening.

 

She’d compromised him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looking this over again, I realized I keep making Star Trek references in these updates! *scratches head* Seriously, that was not intentional. Maybe they’ll amuse one of you!
> 
>  
> 
> Reviews are always welcome. :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of new stuff in this chapter again. I’m not altogether satisfied with it, to be honest, but I’ve been picking at it long enough and hate to delay the update even more. Hope you enjoy the new content!

 

"Commissioner Gordon, sir, you’ve got to take a look at this.”

 

Gordon eyed the two young detectives at the threshold of his office, a welcome intrusion although he would have appreciated a knock at the door first. He craned his neck to see his secretary through the doorway but her chair was strangely vacant. “Come on in.”

 

He’d hardly made a dent in the pile of paperwork on his desk. His focus hadn’t been the same since the Batman memorium at City Hall the previous morning. He’d tried to pour himself into his work but nothing, not even the thought of a fifth person visiting Wayne’s grave, had lifted his spirits. If anything, the cloud hanging over him had darkened more.

 

He dropped his pencil and acknowledged the officers, two of the newest additions to GCPD. "Shelly and Maverick, correct?”

 

"Yes, sir," they each replied.

 

“Well, don’t just stand there,” he said, waving them closer.

 

Maverick, who had always looked familiar to him, stepped forward first. He held out a file. “I think you’ll want to see this, Commissioner.”

 

Gordon removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I’m not the one you should be showing this to.”

 

“We know,” Maverick said, shoulders rolling back. “Sir,” he added.

 

“Yet you’re here,” Gordon said, crossing his arms.

 

Shelly’s eyes flashed with frustration when Gordon didn’t take the file. “What did I tell you?” he said to Maverick. “At least we see its importance.”

 

Maverick threw Shelly a warning glance. “Shelly.” Looking at Gordon he said, “Commissioner Gordon, what Detective Shelly means is that no one else in the department will look at this file because we’re not from around here—and we’re rookies.”

 

Gordon wasn’t surprised that was the case, for numerous reasons, all of which were connected to Bane’s occupation of the city and its aftermath. But these kids no doubt knew that already so he wasn’t going to waste his time explaining a damn thing. “I see.”

 

The detectives tensed. Gordon got the impression they were steeling themselves for the same reaction.

 

He’d have to disappoint them today. “I was in your shoes once,” he said, softening his voice. “Well, let’s have it, since you went to so much trouble bypassing my secretary, possibly drawing her away from my desk.”

 

Maverick stiffened, but met his eyes fearlessly. Gordon almost smiled at that. Shelly shifted his weight from one foot to the next, clearly uncomfortable.

 

“No harm done,” Gordon said gently, reaching for the folder. Before he could take it from him, the tinny sound of a bell came from his phone.

 

“Is this a bad time, sir?” Shelly asked, suddenly hesitant.

 

Gordon grabbed his glasses and set them on his nose. “Not at all,” he said, checking who’d messaged him. It was a text from Barbara, who said she’d call him when he was on his break in an hour. He can’t recall the last time he’d talked to her during the day, not since before they’d discussed getting a divorce. “It’s nothing urgent. It can wait.”

 

Maverick handed him the file. Gordon opened it to the first page, brow lifting as he studied the information. "These are the names of the people we found in the tunnels,” he murmured.

 

"They are,” Maverick confirmed. “And a few others.”

 

Gordon turned the page, pausing when the words came into focus. Besides another column of names, including that of Douglas Fredericks, there were handwritten notes in the margins in red.

 

He recognized that handwriting. He knew that handwriting quite well, in fact.

 

He set the open file on his desk and crossed his arms, staring at them for a moment. Now that he knew they’d had help from someone Batman trusted, he couldn’t ignore the file. “Care to explain this to me?”

 

Maverick leaned over the desk, pointing earnestly at the top of the page with the fervor of a new recruit, untouched by Gotham’s evil. Gordon envied him. "They're all connected, sir. All but two of these names - those circled in red - are related to other members who work with the mob in Gotham City.”

 

“Or have been accused running with the mob at some point in the past, but without solid evidence,” Shelly added.

 

Gordon hoped to God that Fredericks was on the right side of the law for Bruce’s sake and for the sake of his company’s reputation. Although he was certain Wayne Enterprises would recoup on behalf of Bruce what had obviously been fraud, the company had taken enough of a hit, already.

 

"We’d hoped the past six months squeezed the life out of most of mob, following their release from Blackgate." Gordon wasn’t disillusioned to believe that it had actually happened. But holding onto a false hope had helped to buffer the pain of knowing all that Gotham had lost. “I think they’re just that good at hiding.”

 

Maverick‘s eyes crinkled at Gordon’s sad attempt at humor. "I agree, sir. Rumor has it that those who survived ‘exile’ reorganized themselves toward the end of Bane's occupation. One of our contacts says there’s a new name being thrown around. Jack Lahey is supposedly running the shots now, but we’ve no proof this is true. As far as we know, Lahey has no other connection to this city.”

 

Gordon narrowed his gaze on Maverick, who flushed under his perusal. “Did you come up with that yourself?”

 

"My cousin.”

 

The picture cleared. Gordon’s lips twitched at the corners. "And he’s the one who marked up your file?”

 

"Yes, sir."

 

“So, John Blake is your cousin,” Gordon mused.

 

Maverick‘s eyes were guarded. “I prefer to keep that information between us, sir,” he said. “Stand on my own two feet.”

 

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Gordon promised. “Good detectives run in the family.”

 

He wished, not for the first time, that John hadn’t quit the force. He wasn’t surprised that John was having a difficult time leaving it behind.

 

“We’ve always been close. He’s taught me a lot,” Maverick said. “But I haven’t seen him recently, except for when he’d given me the file.”

 

It worried Gordon that John was not only avoiding him but his own cousin, as well. Yet he understood the loss. It was devastating. Still was, despite the fact he knew Bruce was alive. He couldn’t blame John for making himself scarce.

 

Gordon cleared his throat. “About the file. I want to know more.”

 

“Sir, you know as well as I do that the mob wants their money back,” Maverick said. “What Bane had taken away from them by letting the city destroy itself. They’re desperate to get it.”

 

Gordon silently agreed, and it stirred an all-too familiar foreboding in the pit of his stomach, reading him of the lesson they’d learned with the Joker. He’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. He only wished it had taken the mob a bit longer to rally. Gotham was still broken.

 

Maverick flipped through several more pages in the file, stopping at another document. “John did some digging. He discovered that Luther Corp continues to supports a small research lab in Gotham, the same one Wayne Medical had donated two million dollars to five years ago. Nygma Pharmaceuticals. This is a copy of the press release stating that as fact, and information on a new drug they’ve developed over the course of the past decade that has had remarkable results in patients at the Asylum.”

 

Gordon‘s ears perked up at the name. “You mean Arkham.”

 

The young detective nodded. “You may remember that Wayne Medical had the company investigated a year after their substantial donation, thanks to an anonymous tip claiming the lab wasn’t using the funds as dictated in their agreement. Police found traces of illegal drugs and other substances under the fingernails of the scientist who died in the lab the next day, as well as distinct paper trail, but Luthor Corp had counter evidence which disproved the company’s involvement in court. Even so, Wayne Medical eventually withdrew all funding. Nygma Pharmaceuticals has limped on ever since. Supposedly.”

 

Gordon remembered that case. Very clearly, in fact. That was about the time Bruce Wayne had suddenly disappeared from the public eye, just a few years after the death of Miss Dawes. And the same year the Joker had died in his cell at Arkham.

 

He frowned, retracing his thoughts. Something about that coincidence just didn’t seem right, and he couldn’t believe that he hadn’t thought about it at length before. Then again, he hadn’t known Wayne’s true identity at that time. And Joker’s death had been deemed a suicide eight months after that particular case.

 

Montoya had seen the body of the clown and the mark around his neck that same day. But the Joker had been cremated before further investigation, thanks to a gross human error. A technicality that had never set well with him then. And still didn’t.

 

It was difficult to let the coincidence go but he had to focus on the task at hand. He was being unnecessarily paranoid. That had been five years ago. A lifetime ago. The stress of his job must be getting to him.

 

Maverick was right. The rumors of a surge in drug trafficking were more recent, the hundreds of trucks with food and other supplies pouring in from nearby cities perfect foils. It’s all they can do to keep up with efforts to help Gotham’s citizens receive their basic needs. Sadly, so much has happened since Batman saved Gotham that the issue had been pushed to the bottom of the pile, buried indefinitely. It was unfortunate but they had enough work on their hands, essentially rebuilding the city brick by brick.

 

“That’s not all, sir,” Shelly interjected. “At least ten of Nygma’s former and current employees are named in that file.”

 

Gordon took off his glasses and folded his hands, resting them on the desk. Why wasn’t he surprised?

 

However, he was perplexed by the fact that Bane and his men had literally herded these people together, as some sort of clue. It didn’t make sense. On one hand, at least now they had information that could help them crack down on the drug ring, if they played their cards right. On the other hand, that clue may not be for them, the police, but this Lahey. He was beginning to believe that Lahey was a very dangerous man.

 

He’d have to discuss things with Bullock and, eventually, Montoya, if he could convince her to return sooner than later.

 

"As hard as we’ve worked to clear the streets, I never really believed that we’d broken the mob’s heart. We’ve crushed its backbone and inflicted permanent damage, but it will always reappear, sooner or later. This proves it,” Gordon said quietly. “And the two names that didn't match up?"

 

"Dead. As of this morning. Shot in their own homes.” Maverick paused. “John thinks they were killed because they didn’t cooperate - or failed to pay up. His contact is certain there’s more than meets the eye to this laboratory.”

 

Gordon stood up, agitated. He’d yet to hear about that. “Do you know how Fredericks is involved in this?”

 

“We’re not sure, but John doesn’t believe that he is, specifically. But maybe a relative of his.”

 

They had no proof, either way, but it was too dangerous for them to assume that Douglas and the other members of his family were innocent. They were safe for now, but anyone could’ve seen them at the clinic. The clinic had state of the art security, partially funded by Wayne Technology, but if you lived in Gotham, and your name was on a list the mob had drawn up themselves, your life hung by a mere thread.

 

With the city in shambles, where would Fredericks’ family be safe? Who would watch over them? And the others who have no other reason to be on that list than being loosely connected to the mob? The department couldn’t spare the officers. He’d have to talk with Fredericks when he stopped by the clinic to check in about Bruce.

 

He rubbed his jaw, deep in thought. “How is John?” Truth be told, he missed having the young man around.

 

Maverick offered him a small smile. “He’s driven as always. He’s busier than I am and he’s not even working right now.”

 

“That sounds just like Blake.” Gordon didn’t blame John for avoiding him, or losing himself in a case like this on the sidelines. He understood the grief. Losing Batman—and a friend—had been devastating. Still was, in a way. “Leave the file here. I’ll look through it again, I promise.”

 

Maverick nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

 

He watched the young men leave, recalling the innocent smile of Fredericks’ granddaughter. She’d been so proud of her gift from Miss Kyle. It had reminded him of Babs when she’d been younger, untainted by the world, nightmare free, and every bit as imaginative.

 

He turned and stared out the window, although he didn’t know why he bothered looking outside in the first place. The sky hovered over the city, burgeoning with heavy, gray clouds, smothering the sunlight he looked for each and every day.

 

Gotham, within winter’s clutch, was caught in its cyclic history of crime.

 

But there was something he could do to protect its citizens, down to the youngest one. But not without help. If only he’d had been able to convince John to stay with the force. He’d still be two, not one.

 

He sank down into his chair and picked up his pen. He’d think of something. He had to.

 

______________________

 

Selina didn’t know what possessed her to look in on Annette two days in a row. She had more time than she’d first thought, since Bruce had been in physical therapy and was now waiting for Leslie to give him a sponge bath. After taking a short walk around the clinic, she found herself at the young mother’s door.

 

Annette and her daughter had been at the clinic longer than most. Selina knew firsthand that Leslie had a soft heart and she wouldn’t put it past the older woman to have offered Annette and her daughter a safe place to live for the time being. Now that Annette’s father was ill, the small family had become a fixture at the clinic.

 

Selina usually saw them everyday from afar, when she’d step out of Bruce’s room to fetch his food or medication or took a rare break for herself. She could almost say Annette was a good acquaintance, because she didn’t have friend.

 

The truth was, she was drawn to the little girl.

 

Cora reminded her of herself when she’d been that age. Skinny. Never enough food to fill her belly. Never the right clothes. Fatherless. Drifting from place to place with a mother who couldn’t provide a safe, warm home.

 

She supposed her life of stealing had been born from shoeless summers, threadbare sweaters, and limited affection. It wasn’t an excuse for disobeying the law and taking what wasn’t hers, but it gave her affirmation, as twisted as it was.

 

Annette cracked open the door. Her face was pale. “Oh, Cat.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m glad to see you. It’s been a long day.”

 

“Is there something wrong?”

 

Annette’s smile faltered. “My dad’s still weak, but we’re managing.”

 

“ _Commissioner, I don’t know why my name was on the list—”_ Douglas Fredericks said in the background. “ _I don’t have any enemies, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”_

 

“Are you sure?” Selina asked, straining to hear the rest of the conversation. Did Gordon suspect there was more behind Fredericks’ capture than what they’d thought?

 

Annette quickly glanced over her shoulder before dropping her smile altogether. “I can’t talk right now,” she said. “Will you be here tonight? After dinner? I know Cora would love to see you again before she goes to bed. She keeps talking about you.”

 

“I’ll be here all day, as usual.”

 

“That poor man,” Annette murmured, a look of pity on her face. “What he must have been through. I’ll talk with you then? I’d wanted you to ask you more about Thomas, your cousin. Maybe there’s something I could do to help.”

 

Selina wouldn’t be talking to her about Thomas, even if she was a friend.

 

But she had a role to fulfill, ‘Cat,’ who was somewhat aloof but dedicated to helping her cousin, Thomas. So she smiled. “That is very kind of you. I’ll make sure to bring some of that hot chocolate I saw in the kitchen that Cora likes.”

 

“That’s very sweet of you. Thank you, Cat,” Annette said and closed the door.

 

Selina sighed. She’d have to come up with an excuse to stop her from even thinking she’d be able to help care for Bruce. One outsider, Nurse Beth, was enough. How would Bruce keep track of two “nurses,” when he could hardly remember that Selina had stayed behind in Gotham to help him?

 

She was about to text Leslie when she saw that the doctor had messaged her some time ago. She frowned. Somehow she’d missed the notification. She slowed down to read it.

 

_I ordered a protein shake for Bruce, but the staff is too busy to bring it to his room. Will you pick it up for him? I’m on my way to his room now._

 

Biting her lower lip, she debated lying to Leslie and texting back that she never received the text. She’d rather head straight for Bruce’s room. She didn’t like being in the dark, especially when it came to him.

 

She quickly decided a lie wouldn’t be worth breaking Leslie’s trust. The doctor had always seen straight through her. Still did. She wasn’t happy that she’d been forced to take a detour but she’d honor Leslie’s request.

 

The routine at the clinic, although keeping her busy, was somewhat challenging. Selina didn’t live like this. She thrived in a less structured environment where she could do as she pleased, without answering to anyone. Although she couldn’t wait until Bruce was well enough and they could take the necessary steps to prepare him for life away from the clinic, she was selfish at the core. As kind as Leslie was, Selina wanted to live her life her way. With Bruce, until he had completely recovered, away from Gotham.

 

Bruce's protein shake was a sickly green color, and Selina could not look at it as she walked past Annette’s room for a second time.

 

She was eyeing the shake with disgust when she received another text from Leslie.

 

_Come quickly._

 

Selina’s heart lodged in her throat. What could be wrong? The message was obscure. Maybe she shouldn’t read into it.

 

A gut feeling told her she had every reason to believe this was serious.

 

“Cat?” Annette called from behind her.

 

Selina stopped and turned around to see Annette smiling at her.

 

“I’m glad I caught you,” Annette said. “I remembered something else I wanted to discuss with you.”

 

“This really isn’t good time,” Selina interrupted, but after a second thought, walked towards her.

 

“Is something wrong?” Annette asked.

 

“I’m not sure. Take this back to the cafeteria and stick it in the refrigerator?” she asked, shoving the shake into Annette’s hands. “It’s for Thomas. I’ll come back for it later.”

 

“Is something wrong with Thom—”

 

“I really can’t talk right now,” she said hastily, ignoring the confusion on Annette’s face. “I’m sorry.”

 

Walking briskly down the hallway, Selina was relieved it was relatively clear. She wished she was wearing her heeled boots, her preferred footwear when slipping in and out of corners. She’d grown used to them over the years, but she couldn’t wear them now. The thought of stealing, of committing any crime while caring for Bruce, just didn’t seem right.

 

She picked up her pace, not that she was worried. Or so she tried to convince herself.

 

Once she reached the doors to the corridor, she used her key card to open them, fighting the dread rising in her chest. Although her instincts had kept her alive all these years, she didn’t always appreciate how right they usually were.

 

Someone brushed past her as she pocketed the card. She looked up just in time to see a tall, male nurse she didn’t know dart into Bruce’s room. She heard several voices as she approached the door but couldn’t decipher what they were saying—until she saw the bed and the look of distress on the face of the man in it.

 

Leslie sat beside the bed, holding Bruce’s hand. “Focus on me, son,” she urged him softly. “Let the medicine work.”

 

Bruce’s eyes glazed over, arms shaking as he tried to lift his neck, a look of confusion on his face. A faint wheeze escaped his lips.

 

“Don’t talk,” Leslie murmured.

 

He tried to raise his head a second time, but the movement appeared to cost him. He was forced to fall back, his chest heaving as Leslie adjusted the pillow under his neck.

 

“You’re as stubborn as your father,” the doctor observed affectionately. “But you need to listen to me, Thomas.”

 

His eyes heavy, he gave her a slight nod.

 

“We’ll be here when you awaken,” Leslie assured him.

 

Bruce sighed and his eyes fluttered shut.

 

Selina inched forward, anxious to know what had happened, but unwilling to disturb Leslie, who looked deep in thought. She held her tongue. She wouldn’t interfere if Bruce required the doctor’s full attention.

 

Bruce sucked in shallow breath resembling the wheeze of before. Leslie glanced over her shoulder at the nurse. “Brandon, he needs that oxygen.”

 

Selina stood beside Leslie, a lump forming in her throat. It wasn’t surprising that Bruce, his face pale and pinched with pain, didn’t know she was there until she touched his shoulder. He turned his head, his eyes widening at the sight of her. He soundlessly moved his lips, looking earnestly at her.

 

“Remember, Thomas, don’t try to talk.” Leslie placed her hand on Bruce’s forehead. “You don’t have the strength to spare right now.”

 

Bruce shook his head.

 

“You don’t,” Leslie said firmly.

 

His eyes sharpened on her. “‘Yes,” he wheezed.

 

Leslie’s expression softened. “But I see you’re determined to do something. Squeeze my hand.”

 

With a look of concentration on his face, Bruce clenched his jaw and attempted to squeeze her hand. His arm shook from exertion but he could not, in fact, do what Leslie had asked. A fresh layer of sweat lined his flushed face.

 

“Okay,” Leslie said when he gasped for air. “That’s enough.”

 

Bruce looked up at the ceiling, clenching the covers with both hands as if from pain. He screwed his eyes shut and mouthed one word, a curse, that Selina could read very well.

 

“We’ll get to the bottom of this, Thomas,” Leslie promised.

 

“What happened?” she asked Leslie, keeping her eyes on Bruce. His body was tense and trembling, as if he had an excessive amount of nervous energy to get rid of.

 

“I’m not sure, but I intend to find out,” Leslie murmured. She craned her neck to find the nurse. “Brandon, I need that mask on him, now.”

 

“Yes, Dr. Thompkins.” Brandon closed a cupboard door and walked over to hand her the oxygen mask. “This is an older style but in good, working condition. The new one had a crack.”

 

Leslie‘s brow twitched in concern. “That’s unusual. The shipment arrived just this week. We’ll have to check all of them. Faulty equipment in my clinic is unacceptable.”

 

“I can go through the other boxes during my break,” Brandon offered. “And more inventory, if you’d like.”

 

“I’d appreciate it,” Leslie said, eyes brimming with relief. “Now I wonder if we even checked the boxes in the first place.” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Things are too crazy around here.”

 

Bruce opened his eyes and squinted up at her.

 

Leslie dropped her hand and gave him a tired smile. “I know you don’t want this, but it’ll help you.”

 

She fit it into place, Bruce’s mouth tightening as it covered his face. He shook his head from side to side, fighting the contraption. Selina grasped his other hand to keep him from trying to take it off.

 

“Don’t fight it,” Leslie murmured, holding the mask in place. “Breathe, Thomas.”

 

Bruce shot a look of contempt at the ceiling. Soon, he began to relax into the mattress, his breaths slowing with time.

 

“Good,” Leslie said quietly after a moment. “Just rest. I know that you don’t want to, but something is telling your body that it needs a break.”

 

Bruce’s eyes fluttered shut once more, his face going slack. Selina wouldn’t be surprised if Leslie had slipped him a pain killer and a light sedative. It wasn’t long before Bruce had fallen asleep completely.

 

Leslie‘s shoulders dropped, her relief palpable. “There he goes.”

 

“Do you need anything else, Dr. Thompkins?” Brandon asked after a moment.

 

“No. You’re free to go now,” Leslie said. “Thank you, Brandon. I know I took you from your other duties.”

 

“It wasn’t a problem,” he said quickly.

 

“Still, I know you’re as busy as I am these days.” Leslie smiled. “Please tell Nurse Beth when she’s returned from her break that I need to speak with her as soon as possible.”

 

“Of course, doctor,” Brandon said.

 

Selina watched him leave before turning to Leslie. “What,” she said through clenched teeth. “Is going on?”

 

Leslie clung to Bruce’s hand. “My boy,” she whispered hoarsely. “I’m sorry your stay here has been so unpleasant. Alfred would be saying a few words about it, I’m sure.”

 

While she waited for Leslie’s reply, Selina’s thoughts simply rolled, over and over, circular in nature, until she finally came to a conclusion.

 

She’d never thought Bruce as frail, even after all of these weeks, but seeing him so dependent upon Leslie she realized just how human he was and what his life as a vigilante had cost him. He may have a god complex and the skills to do the impossible, but he wasn’t inhuman. He was maybe more vulnerable because he was so damn heroic.

 

She wrapped both her hands around his cool, limp one, lightly running her thumb up and down his skin. He looked smaller and incredibly worn behind the mask, the sound of the equipment in the room and strong smell of antiseptic only emphasizing his vulnerability. She would never tell him, but she missed the vitality he’d once had, the energy he’d surprised her with at the masquerade.

 

“He was in physical therapy after Nurse Beth left to pick up lunch. You’ve met his substitute therapist before. Megan’s her name. She worked with Bruce here in his room since he was exhausted after I bathed him.” Leslie paused, then looked at her. “Selina, he had a panic attack in the middle of his session. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. He was frozen.”

 

“That’s never happened to him before,” Selina said. “Are you sure it was a panic attack?”

 

“At this point, I’m certain. According to Megan, it went on for thirty minutes before she called me.” Leslie stepped away from Bruce and picked up his file off the end of the bed. “Needless to say, I’m not happy with how she handled the situation, but it’s not enough to warrant a dismissal.”

 

She couldn’t imagine how frightening things must have appeared to Bruce for him to react like that. “The physical therapy did this? Did she push him too hard?”

 

“I’m not sure what caused it, if anything,” Leslie admitted. “Megan has been working him harder this week, but she has to if he’s going to get out of that bed anytime soon. I don’t think it was her fault. I won’t be too hasty and point fingers but I will take additional precautions, being that this is _Bruce_.”

 

“You think someone did this to him,” Selina said. If that was true, it had to be someone who had access to this room. She could count on one hand who the authorization to enter this room on a daily basis, or nearly so. But anyone with a little experience could have swiped a key card to the corridor.

 

Leslie watched Bruce with a sad smile. “As much as I hate the thought of that, it’s a possibility but I have no proof. I already took a blood sample. We’ll have answers soon.”

 

Selina couldn’t buy into the idea that Batman had had a panic attack and determined it made much more sense that someone had triggered this reaction. From what she’d learned about Bruce, he’d been trained to overcome things that most people would simply curl up in a ball and wish to die if they ever experienced them.

 

“We’ll need to watch him around the clock for at least forty-eight hours,” Leslie said. “I’m going to call on a friend for a favor, ask if he’s willing to fill in for me here at the clinic. I’d like to spend more time with Bruce and observe him for longer than just a handful of hours at a time.”

 

A soft groan halted their conversation. Selina looked over at Bruce, his forehead wrinkling with lines that she’d never seen before.

 

Her heart constricted at the sight. She’d always been attracted to older men, although that preference had gotten her in trouble a few times in her line of work. But as cliche as it sounded, even to her, Bruce Wayne was everything she’d ever wanted, down to the premature, silver strands peeking out from under the black hair dye. “Is he in pain?”

 

“Not as much as before,” Leslie said, but she didn’t look convinced. “He‘ll feel the strain that panic attack put on his muscles tomorrow, if not sooner. He was so tense when I arrived, Selina. Muscles locked. Hands clenched until his palms bled. Teeth grinding so hard I could hear them. We couldn’t pry his hands open at first.”

 

Selina winced. “He must be exhausted.”

 

“I gave him a small dose of medication before you arrived to help him sleep, as well as a mild muscle relaxer and a sedative.” Leslie’s lips curved into a rueful smile. “He didn’t want them, of course, but until he can show me proof that he has a medical degree, I’ll treat him as I see fit.”

 

“Do you know what was going through his mind during the panic attack?” Selina wondered.

 

“Even if he had remembered, he wouldn’t have been able to tell me at the time. He could hardly catch his breath.” Leslie leafed through Bruce’s chart.

 

“Something triggered it,” Selina asserted.

 

She wanted answers, but she couldn’t risk his health by asking him specific questions about the panic attack. She’d proceed cautiously. Observe with patience and guide their conversations.

 

“Most likely,” Leslie agreed, looking up at her. “I’m going to speak with Megan. Will you stay here with him?”

 

“There’s no other place I’d rather be,” Selina said honestly.

 

______________________

 

 

 

“Leave?” Annette asked, her eyes wide in disbelief. Her gaze shifted from Gordon to her father. ”Dad, you’re not seriously considering we leave over….over _nothing_?”

 

“Do not worry, my dear,” Fredericks told her softly. “We’re staying here until my house is restored. I don’t have furniture for you or Cora, yet.”

 

Gordon winced. Looters had trashed the elderly gentleman’s home to pieces. Hardly anything had been salvageable, but Fredericks wasn’t alone. The wealthy of Gotham had had much to lose.

 

“We can wait,” Annette said stubbornly. “We’ve waited this long.”

 

“For the sake of your family, I beg you both to reconsider,” Gordon said.

 

Fredericks’ face, which had aged considerably in the past week, closed. “I will not be forced to leave my home. And neither will my daughter. They’ve been through enough.”

 

“Even if you aren’t involved, it isn’t safe for you to stay here,” Gordon insisted. “You were kidnapped, along with those other people, Mr. Fredericks. And it didn’t go unnoticed.”

 

“If my daughter says there is no reason to be concerned, than I must decline,” Fredericks said with all the authority of a Wayne Enterprises’ board member.

 

Gordon’s heart sank. If Fredericks’ granddaughter paid the price for this decision, he would never forgive himself for not being as firm as possible with them. “Mr. Fredericks, I must ask that you give this more thought. I can find a place for you all to stay outside of Gotham.”

 

Montoya, out of the goodness of her heart, had offered her late parents’ cabin for them to use. He’d appreciated the gesture. He assumed she’d offered it to the small family to use since she’d taken an extended leave of absence before Bane had taken over the city. Montoya had told him, more than once, that she felt guilty for being gone when Gotham had needed its law enforcement to be at its strongest.

 

But that absence, in Gordon’s opinion, had been a blessing in disguise. So many officers had died in the fight. Renee could have been one of them.

 

Annette’s face paled. “You want us to leave Gotham?”

 

“I can’t guarantee your safety if you remain here,” Gordon explained.

 

“My daughter has ties here, Commissioner,” Fredericks explained. “So do I.”

 

“This is your answer, then,” Gordon said, disappointed he could not change their minds.

 

“I don’t know why they took my dad,” Annette said sharply. “And if my father said he wasn’t involved in these illegal activities, then I believe him.”

 

Fredericks looked at him. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Commissioner.”

 

Gordon considered playing his last card, reminding him that the future of Wayne Enterprises depended on his presence on the board, on him being alive, but thought better of it. It would be better to leave on good terms, instead of antagonizing the man or his daughter. “You’re free to make your own decision,” he said quietly.

 

If anything, it was Gordon who had failed him and the other innocent people.

 

“It’s best that we remain here.” Annette turned away to face the window. Her back stiffened. “To be with my father as he recovers. We’re all he has left.”

 

Gordon watched them both for a long moment. He was starting to believe that Annette protested a bit too much. “You have my number,” he said finally. “Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”

_____________

 

Three days after Bruce’s panic attack, Selina walked back into Bruce’s room, frustrated and on edge. The blood test had shown nothing unusual. And while that hardly appeased her and Leslie both, they could not get to the bottom of Bruce’s symptoms. He was growing more anxious and agitated, but other times he was completely listless.

 

To make matters worse, Gordon had asked Leslie if he could speak with Selina in her office, privately. Of course she’d no choice but to leave Bruce, although she’d loathed the idea of leaving him. What Gordon told her had been important, but the news worried her. If Fredericks was lying about his involvement with the mob, Annette and Cora were in danger, as well as Fredericks’ good standing with Wayne Enterprises. And if Annette was lying, and Selina suspected that she was, then they were better off far away from Gotham.

 

Although she’d wanted to do what Gordon had asked and look out for the family, she couldn’t. Not really. Not to the extent that would satisfy her. They needed around-the-clock protection to get the job done right. Of course, she’d do what she could, including forming a plan to weaken Annette’s resolve.

 

Bruce was her priority now. She couldn’t leave him for any length of time. Not when he’d just started looking for her when his memory flipped off and on like a switch. And not with his doctor expecting him to have another panic attack at the drop of a hat.

 

Other than a sweeping glance, Selina ignored the man on the bed whose eyes were closed and breath steady in an effort to appear as if he were sleeping. Nurse Beth flitted about the room, oblivious to the fact that Bruce was faking it. The master of masks performed well, even in his impaired state. Selina played along, having read his body language soon after she’d come into the room. Had the sick feeling not settled in her stomach that something felt off, she'd be amused watching Bruce fool the annoyingly flighty woman.

 

"I brought his breakfast," Selina said sweetly. She set the tray of fruit, eggs, and toast on the small bedside table. “Where’s Dr. Thompkins?”

 

Beth narrowed her gaze on the clock on the wall. “You’re late.”

 

Selina rolled her eyes behind Beth’s back. It was well past Bruce's appointed breakfast time and although Leslie wanted them to keep to a schedule as much as possible, it wasn’t going to hurt Bruce one bit if he had to eat a half hour later. “I had to take care of a personal matter.”

 

"Something more important than your cousin?” Beth asked mockingly.

 

Selina lifted a brow at the condescending tone and refused to apologize. The talk with Gordon had not been easy and, now, she couldn’t stop worrying about Cora. She’d admittedly delayed her return, trying to pull her thoughts together as she strolled about the clinic. Even with his impaired memory, Bruce could read her like an open book, but she couldn’t allow that to happen. She’d don her own mask.

 

"Yes,” she said, smiling easily at her. “He’d asked me to call his mother today,” she lied. “He just about had another panic attack when he remembered. She’s been worried sick all this time, never hearing from him.”

 

Nurse Beth looked at her with irritation. "Oh,” she huffed. “Well, next time, do me the courtesy of informing me when you’re going to be this late. You can’t just not show up. I thought you were committed to helping him.”

 

Selina ignored the accusation. “How was he this morning? Any better?”

 

“Yes,” Beth said. “The poor man could hardly get comfortable in his own bed. Dr. Thompkins requested that I administer a sedative. You know as well as I do that he has had a hard time sleeping ever since his panic attack.”

 

She didn’t need to be reminded. Bruce had barely slept after they had had to explain why he was at the clinic again, and that his mental health had taken a dive. "Did he complain about his back? Or a headache?"

 

"Not too much. He was very quiet while you were gone. You know how Thomas is,” Beth said, sighing. “He isn’t the best conversationalist.”

 

“Oh, he talks to me just fine,” Selina couldn’t help but say.

 

Beth’s scowl marred her delicate features. “I have other patients to see.” She made her way to the door but looked back at Selina before exiting with a twisted, saccharine smile on her face. "Let me know if he needs anything, Cat. Oh, and Leslie had an emergency surgery but she should be back in about two hours.”

 

Selina wasted no time locking the door behind the nurse, an unprecedented shiver going down her spine as she returned to Bruce's side. She didn’t hesitate to lightly squeeze his shoulder to alert him she was still there but also to calm her own nerves.

 

"Bruce, she’s gone. You can stop playing possum now," she said dryly.

 

Despite the assurance, his shoulders stiffened, new lines of tension running down his arms at the sound of her voice.

 

“Bruce,” she murmured. “It’s just us.”

 

His muscles bulged under the thin cotton shirt and he clenched the covers with tight fists as if the bedding was a lifeline. Her gaze flitted downward, to the displaced IV by his hand which hinted as to how he’d avoided the sedative.

 

"Bruce,” she coaxed again. "You can talk to me now. She's gone."

 

His eyes flew open, his gaze wild before he locked on her face. He sucked in a large breath. “Selina,” he said hoarsely. “S-Selina.”

 

She smoothed the sheet on his chest. "It's okay,” she said, then frowned when his face went white. “Bruce, what's-"

 

"I'm going to be sick," he croaked. Before she could respond, he leaned over to the other side of the bed and lost the contents of his stomach on the floor.

 

He was sick one more time and nearly slipped off the mattress from the force of it. She reached across the bed and grasped his arms as he faltered.

 

"Don't," he growled.

 

"Bruce, you're going to slide right off this bed if I let go."

 

"No,” he strangled out. “You misunderstand. Don't leave me alone with that woman ever again."

 

Selina’s thoughts went wild. Bruce was afraid of Nurse Beth? What had she done?

 

He keened and she yanked on his arm without a second thought to keep him from falling. Anger at Beth stirred in her chest as she helped pull him up. "What did she do? Do you remember?”

 

"You're hurting me," Bruce groaned.

 

"God, Bruce, I'm so sorry," she said, horrified that she had basically manhandled a man who had never recovered from a broken back.

 

She tried to help him onto his back, but he shook his head. “It hurts too much that way,” he gritted through clenched teeth.

 

The raw expression of pain on his face reminded her of Bane snapping his back on his knee. “Okay.” She guided him onto his stomach, willing her own hands not to shake. "What do you remember?” she asked when he was settled.

 

He turned his head sideways to face her. His eyes grew strangely wet. "Keep her away,” he said. “Please, Selina.”

 

She stared down at him, anxiety gnawing at the pit of her stomach. She’d never heard him so... _fearful_. This man had faced R’as. The Joker. Bane. Certain death. Although she’d agree that there wasn’t something quite right about Beth, how could he, Batman, be terrified of one little nurse?

 

She swallowed her concern and began to lightly massage his back, which had helped ease his pain in the past. “Okay,” she whispered.

 

After a moment, she decided to give him more time to catch his breath. She first washed his face with a damp cloth, then helped him rinse his mouth. When he seemed more relaxed, she pulled up a chair and sat down beside him. “Bruce, talk to me.”

 

He breathed shallowly, looking like the exhausted savior of Gotham that he had been for weeks, now. She felt drawn to him more than ever, as if a bond had forged between them.

 

"Your back is hurting you. Give me a number,” she said.

 

“Six,” he rasped, sweat dripping into his eyes.

 

She wanted to call him out on that little white lie but held her tongue. A six was really a nine, coming from Bruce. She suspected he’d stretched the truth because he detested painkillers and didn’t want to become dependent upon them.

 

Bruce exhaled shakily. "Will you keep her away?"

 

"What did she do?” she asked calmly, remembering his panic attack. “What do you last remember?"

 

"Will you keep her away from me?" he asked, voice stretched thin and desperate with pleading.

 

She realized with a jolt that she was dealing with a man who, in his convalescence, often resembled a child. She had to meet his current need before he could move on and process anything else she had to ask or say.

 

"I will,” she assured him.

 

"Thank you," he said, with an unmistakable crack in his voice. "I don't know what she did, but I was waking up when she began to tell me where I was. That Batman saved Gotham. That I have memory issues. As she continued to talk, I felt...threatened. I read a few things in a journal. I saw the name, Cat, scrawled in hastily by the word, friend. I’d hoped that it meant you were here helping me, but I wasn't sure. I began to ask about you but she took the journal from me and told me I needed to rest. I didn't trust her...and...and then...I knew I couldn’t let her...be in control.”

 

"Which is why you played possum and avoided the sedative." Selina brushed the hair falling across from his face.

 

He grimaced. “Not all of it. I feel like I could sleep for a week.”

 

“"Do you remember anything else at all?"

 

"Being helpless." He swallowed. "I remember the distinct feeling of being helpless and experiencing incredible sadness."

 

"Do you think she actually hurt you?" Although she didn’t want it to be true, the clues leading up to this moment indicated that she had. Why else would Bruce be faking sleep? Why else would he throw up of his own accord and not from one of his chronic migraines? Why would he ask Selina to keep Beth away from him, when he didn’t understand why he was asking in the first place?

 

"Yes." He stared at a blank space beside her. "I do."

 

"Without proof, we're limited.” Not that it would stop her from bringing her down.

 

"I know.” He hesitated.

 

“What?”

 

“I think she’s done this to me before.”

 

Selina closed her eyes, attempting to suppress the dark rage building in her chest. “Bruce,” she whispered tightly. “Are you sure?”

 

“Everything seemed so familiar, down to what she said to me.”

 

She was beginning to unravel the mystery. “That’s the first real memory you’ve had in days, Bruce,” she said absently.

 

“It is?” he asked.

 

She was going to strangle that woman. “She’s been hurting you,” she said. “It makes sense now.”

 

Bruce looked at her worriedly. “You’ll have to catch her in the act. It could be dangerous.”

 

”Then we’ll just have to be careful,” she said. “We can’t do anything to make her suspicious.”

 

“I can defend myself if I have a little heads up,” Bruce said.

 

“Mr. Wayne, you're in no position to actually fight her."

 

His eyes teemed with regret.

 

“You’re not,” Selina said gently.

 

He sighed. "I know I’m not,” he admitted. “But you are."

 

"You don't know how happy it makes me to hear you say that,” Selina mused.

 

He began to chuckle but it was cut short by both a groan and curse.

 

She got to her feet. "I’ll ask Leslie if you can have a mild painkiller.”

 

“No-”

 

"You’re at a nine,” she pointed out.

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing. "Six. It’ll be a five in a minute.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “I can see right through you, Wayne.”

 

“I think..." He opened his eyes and gazed at her with the warmth she craved. "I think I should get off of my stomach. It’s getting worse."

 

She helped him roll onto his back, although the process wasn’t easy. Once on his back, he arched his spine, his face twisting while he tried to relax.

 

She almost had to look away. "Bruce, you need..." She swallowed. Medicine. Knee surgery. Back surgery. “A new body.”

 

He huffed a laugh. "I’d settle for rods in my back and new knees.”

 

Selina did look away, then. How he could not hate her for what she’d done to him, she still didn’t know. “I’ll tell Leslie about Beth.”

 

“Selina,” he said softly.

 

She turned her head to stare at him.

 

“Don’t lock me out,” he said worriedly.

 

"I’m not.”

 

“Will you make sure I know what’s going on before you set it up?” he asked. “I’d like to be prepared and avoid a kick in the head or being knocked out of my bed."

 

She folded her arms. “How do you know what I'm planning?”

 

"Well, I'm the bait, aren't I? It’s virtually impossible for me to help you because of my memory issues and, well, this." He waved his hand down at his body. "All I ask is that you don't hurt her too badly."

 

“Bruce, she hurt you,” Selina said tightly.

 

He threw her a dark look. "Selina, I don't really know what she did and even if I did know, none of us do. Even if we did, she doesn't deserve to be thrown around, only restrained to keep her from doing it again."

 

“I beg to differ.”

 

"I know you do, but it isn’t right.” He paused. “You’ll need to contact the police but they can't know I'm here. You can only tell Gordon. He doesn't know I'm here, does he?"

 

"No," she said haltingly.

 

He narrowed his eyes on her. "I’m not sure if I believe you.”

 

“You can believe whatever you’d like.”

 

He sighed. “You're thinking of telling him, aren’t you?”

 

"We’d have to in order to keep your secret from the police."

 

His expression fell. "Please, Selina, don't tell him that Bruce Wayne is alive. I’m a burden to enough people."

 

She should’ve known that was the reason for his silence. "I highly doubt he’d ever see you as a burden, Bruce.”

 

He reached for her hand. "Selina, please don’t tell him about me. Make sure I’m out of sight after you’ve apprehended her.”

 

She squeezed his hand. "You're impossibly stubborn." But it made her absolutely crazy for him.

 

He smiled. "That has worked to my benefit on several occasions, believe it or not."

 

"You know you're going to have to trust me again."

 

"Haven’t I been trusting you since I got here?”

 

"Yes, but you shouldn’t.”

 

“Selina,” he said softly.

 

"I guess I can’t stop you,” she said, thinking of how he’d forgiven her for so much, already.

 

“It’s like you said. I can believe whatever I’d like,” he said smugly.

 

She snorted. “If that’s the case, will you trust me enough to do what I can? Do you understand that I can’t make promises to you that I know I can’t keep, especially when it comes to your safety?"

 

He grew somber. “You’re talking about Gordon.”

 

“Yes.”

 

He looked away, falling into a brooding silence. She had no right to ask him to put this much faith in her, but she wouldn’t risk his life for the sake of keeping his secret. His life was worth far, far more to her than that.

 

He exhaled slowly. "Fine. I’ll trust you.”

 

“You won’t regret it.” She leaned down to kiss his cheek.

 

He made a small noise in his throat, tangling his hand in her hair and keeping her there. “Be careful, Cat,” he murmured in her ear. “We don't know what she's capable of."

 

Oh, but they did, she silently disagreed.

 

Nurse Beth was capable of scaring Batman out of his wits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Reviews are always welcome! 
> 
> I’m trying to keep up with Tumblr more than I have in the past. I’m an introvert, so it’s tough, but I’m making an attempt. I’d love new friends to follow! My handle is arrowinthesky. :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to eat my words about this rewrite. I didn’t expect it to be this difficult to manage. Thank you for your patience. 
> 
> This chapter, quite frankly, was a terror. I revamped the entire first half, adding another OC. I think (hope?) you’ll enjoy it much more than what it was in its former state. :) 
> 
> Small note of warning for non-consensual touching in this update.

 

Bruce couldn’t put a finger on it, but something about the day felt off to him. It didn’t help that after a nurse came into his room to check his vitals, and he read her name tag— _Beth_ , it had said—he broke out in a cold sweat. When he couldn’t think of a good reason for that, either, it wasn’t long before an ache blossomed in his chest. A persistent, nagging sensation called anxiety.

 

Distracted by her presence, he stopped his therapy mid-stride, landing on his foot incorrectly and twisting his knee in the process. Despite the stab of pain shooting straight up his leg, he gritted his teeth, giving his therapist no reason to tell him to stop.

 

He watched the nurse, every nuance of movement. She made an exaggerated show of placing the tray she had been holding onto the counter across the room, complete with a smile that stretched across her face like it was painted on. All she was missing, Bruce thought, was a wig—and a large, red nose.

 

Her hands free, she picked up a vial of liquid and a newly unpackaged hypodermic needle.

 

He swallowed, unable to take his eyes off of either item.

 

“Thomas, would you like to take a break?” his physical therapist asked.

 

“No,” Bruce said, peeling his eyes away from the nurse. He plastered on a Wayne smile. “I’m fine.”

 

“Okay,” the therapist said, but he eyed him doubtfully. “Let’s walk up and down the entire way, one more time.”

 

Biting his lip, Bruce braced his arms against the parallel metal bars on either side of him. Now anchored, he took a single step forward..

 

Under his therapist’s close perusal, his arms began to shake.

 

“Hey,” the therapist said. He touched Bruce’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “I admit I’ve been pushing you today, although my sister would most likely beg to differ. How about we take ten, then get back to it?”

 

Bruce looked up, but his eyes fell on the nurse again, not his therapist. His heart thudded in his chest like a bat desperate to be released from a cage—and he had no idea why.

 

The therapist patted him on the back. “My wit and unrivaled personality usually just leaves my girlfriend speechless. When we first met, that is,” he added. “Now, she just rolls her eyes. But back then, she fell for it. I mean, me. Said I was charming. I haven’t had that effect like that on anyone else since, though.”

 

Bruce cleared his throat, anything to stop the therapist’s excessive rambling. “No, I just need—”

 

“I can take it from here,” Beth interrupted without looking up. “If he‘s done.”

 

Andrew—at least Bruce thought it was his name—glanced at him first before replying. Bruce wouldn’t have thought anything of it, except Andrew also eyed the closed door of his bathroom. That wouldn’t be anything to remark about, but Bruce was sure the door was usually left cracked open. If it was closed, the light was on, indicating someone was using it.

 

Not a single ray of light escaped from under the door. Only shadow.

 

Andrew shook his head. “I’d prefer to stay, thank you, make sure I didn’t overwork him.”

 

Bruce wondered if Andrew _meant_ to infer he was a workhorse.

 

She smiled. “But I owe you, or don’t you remember?”

 

Bruce winced, turning his ear away from her. He’d heard her say that before. _Don’t you remember?_ He just couldn’t put his finger on why or when. But the more he thought about it, the more his stomach rolled.

 

He backed up, right into his therapist.

 

“Woah, easy there,” Andrew murmured, steadying him. “I think you got a bad case of PTSD. They never mentioned it, though.”

 

Bruce had no idea what he was talking about, and admitting that when he had no context probably wouldn’t do him any favors. He didn’t understand many things about his life now, but he didn’t need sympathy or pity just because things didn’t make sense to him.

 

“You covered for me the other night when I had to step out for an hour,” Beth explained.

 

“I did?” Andrew asked.

 

“He’d had an emergency—“

 

“—at the hospital he works at.” Andrew smiled. “I remember now.”

 

Bruce frowned, irritated that he was constantly on the outside looking in. He had no idea if he had some post-traumatic stores disorder. He was inclined to think he didn’t, given his training. He also didn’t think Beth had a sibling. Then again, he didn’t recall ever meeting Andrew before today. And, given the therapist's uninhibited personality, he doubted he ever did. He wouldn’t forget something like that.

 

Andrew crossed his arms. “Pediatrician?”

 

“Pediatric surgeon. A fine one,” she said, but her smile thinned. “His only downfall is he’s like Thomas here—doesn’t quite know when to stop.”

 

Andrew arched a brow and leaned in toward Bruce. “I think she’s on to you, bro.”

 

Bruce glanced sideways at Beth, who stared at Bruce as if he were a prize to be won.

 

His mouth went desert-dry.

 

“I mean, you’ve worked so hard today, man,” Andrew said, waving to the parallel bars. “Do you know you’ve killed it today?”

 

Bruce forced himself to swallow. He’d killed nothing. “Once down this _alley_ isn’t an accomplishment.”

 

Andrew looked amused. “Give yourself some credit, wise guy. You’ve done this routine eight times with no complaints and at an amazing pace.”

 

“Eight?” He ran the back of his hand across his forehead, removing sweat that had gathered there. “I thought we’d done this once, maybe twice.”

 

“Like I said,” Beth said in a sing-song voice. “Thomas doesn’t know when to stop.”

 

Bruce’s gaze dropped to the floor. That sounded like a threat, but why would the nurse threaten him?

 

When Leslie had asked him in the morning how he was doing, Bruce could tell she not only wanted an honest answer from him but was attempting to judge his reaction to his memory loss. He’d replied with a blatant, white lie that he wasn’t ashamed of, even now. The last thing he wanted her to know was how frustrated he was that this had happened to him. He couldn’t worry her. She had enough on her mind. The clinic understaffed while bursting at the seams.

 

But perhaps he could trust this therapist. He seemed like a good guy—

 

Bruce shook the thought away. He couldn’t trust anyone. There wasn’t anyone here he could trust other than Leslie and maybe…

 

One beautiful woman who haunted his dreams.

 

He rubbed his temple vigorously with one hand. Selina? Why would he think of Selina? He barely even knew her, although he liked to think they were at least friends, in a way that only Batman can be.

 

But he wasn’t Batman, anymore, was he?

 

Sweat collected at the base of his neck, trailing down his skin and under his shirt like he’d just stepped out of a pool. Bruce gripped the bars into submission, cursing his inability to make sense of his new life at the clinic.

 

As Beth began to hum, running over various minor notes discordantly, it distracted Bruce even more. He faltered during his next step, too intent on studying her through his lashes. She’d put the needle aside and was gathering what she needed to check his vitals. A stethoscope. Blood pressure cuff. Another needle—

 

He choked on a breath.

 

“Steady,” Andrew whispered by his ear, low enough to prevent Beth from hearing. “We’ll get you out of this one. I promise.”

 

So there was a problem. Leslie would’ve told him—so that meant she probably did and he’d forgotten.

 

It explained the bad feeling souring in the pit of his stomach. He could rely on his instinct.

 

“By the way, I know how that works.” She waved at Bruce and the harness that had been made specifically for him keeping him safe from injuring his hips or knees at all times. “Megan, showed me yesterday.”

 

Megan.

 

The name was more familiar to him than Andrew or Beth. He remembered her, something about her honesty. How could he not? She knew just what to say to keep him moving. If anyone didn’t know when to stop, it was her. Not him. He was pretty sure she’d been a drill sergeant in her past life.

 

“Right. Megan,” Bruce said under his breath.

 

“My sister shouldn’t be handing out our family secrets,” Andrew teased Beth, a dimple appearing at the corner of his mouth.

 

Beth actually blushed. “She’s nice.”

 

“She said the same thing about you.”

 

“I-I’m not sure I’ve ever had a friend like her.” Beth looked coyly at Andrew. “Or her brother.”

 

Bruce was stupefied. Beth had friends, not to mention the fact that she was coming onto Andrew, now?

 

Andrew’s smile widened with pride. “She’s one in a million.”

 

“Oh, I know!” Beth chirped. “She usually gives up her dessert at lunch to a little girl named Cora. You know her, don’t you, Thomas? Cora?”

 

Bruce didn’t think he did. “Um, no, actually—”

 

“She’s just the sweetest thing and I hope I can spend more time with her, too,” Beth went on. “Her patients here adore her.”

 

It seemed like Beth did, too.

 

He’d have to warn Megan.

 

Bruce paused. But of what exactly did he have to warn Megan? What was there about this nurse that grated on his nerves?

 

“Not just patients,” Andrew pointed out. “Have you ever seen her do her old jazz routine for George in housecleaning? He loves it.”

 

Beth squealed. “Once! I begged her to do it again, but she said she should start going to yoga classes again. She said she isn’t as flexible as she was in college.”

 

“Warrior pose!” Andrew stated, punching a fist into the air.

 

Beth’s eyes brightened. “Pigeon pose is my personal favorite.”

 

Suddenly tired, and particularly exhausted from the way they continued to talk circles around him and above him, Bruce made no attempt to hide his irritation. He fell back on his Wayne persona, sighing heavily and adding an eye roll for good measure. “Really?” he muttered.

 

“Okay,” Andrew said, laughing. “We’re done here. I can take a hint.”

 

Bruce took a breath, then inclined his head towards his wheelchair. There, he could watch Beth easily. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to sit down.”

 

“I’ll let you take it from here then, Beth,” Andrew said. He frowned and checked his watch. “I have a meeting, anyway. We’re short another therapist, thanks to the sicknesses going around these days. It’s almost impossible to keep up with the cleaning here, so many patients going in and out.”

 

Beth clucked her tongue. “I told her we needed to hire a cleaning service—”

 

“On the fabulous budget we have?” Andrew asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Right.”

 

“Maybe we should make some cuts. Do we really need all of this security?”

 

Bruce didn’t see how the clinic would manage if they did that. “How much do you thinks the hospital needs?” he found himself saying. “I like contributing when it counts.”

 

Both Andrew and Beth looked at him in surprise.

 

He immediately wanted to take his words back. He knew better than to give them any indication he was a wealthy man.

 

“So you just happen to have a thousand dollars lying around that you can donate, Thomas?” Andrew asked, grinning. “That would be one grand memory—“

 

Beth snickered.

 

Andrew’s grin widened. “Pun totally intended.”

 

Bruce shrugged. “Maybe.”

 

”Easy on the eyes _and_ rich,” Andrew said. “Who knew?”

 

“I…” Bruce paused, then added more carefully, “I think at one time I did. Who knows if I’ll never remember.”

 

He had no idea why he’d even said that, but now that he’d brought it up, he had to figure out a way to get his hands on his offshore accounts without contacting Lucius or Alfred. He’d tucked millions away for a rainy day, years ago. If Leslie needed it, he’d be glad to give up at least ten grand for that specific purpose.

 

And he’d hate to forget that this was a need. “Would you mention it to Leslie?”

 

Beth came forward. “Of course,” she said smoothly. “You are an enigma, Thomas.”

 

“No,” Bruce said. “Not really. Just a guy.”

 

“Well, I gotta run,” Andrew said, backing up with a job. “I’ll see you the day after tomorrow, Thomas.”

 

“I don’t have PT everyday?” Bruce asked.

 

“Megan will be here tomorrow. We alternate now.”

 

Bruce wanted to kick himself. He should’ve known that. “Right,” he said.

 

As soon as Andrew cleared the door, Beth placed her hand on her hip, staring at Bruce. “No offense, but he’s a bit more sunshine than you are.”

 

“None taken,” Bruce muttered.

 

She came over to his side, stretching her body across him to unlatch the harness, making it impossible for him not to breathe in the scent of her skin. At first he there was a distinct and hearty earthy, but then then an entirely new aroma overpowered it—mint. Something about it was off-putting, livening his senses. He held his breath to stop it.

 

She let go of the harness, her chest pressing her body into his. “You look well-rested, considering all the hard work you just did,” she murmured, staring up at him with wide eyes. “You are one star patient.”

 

He scowled, leaning back as far as he could without letting go of the parallel bars. “What are you doing?”

 

“What does it look like?” she said, lifting up on her tiptoes to look him in the eye. “I want that kiss you promised me.”

 

Without thinking, his eyes fell on her lips, the stray mark of red lipstick above her mouth.

 

“I never said—” In his irritation, he missed the needle that was in her right hand. The pinch startled him. He jerked his arm away, barely clinging to the pole with his other hand.

 

“Oh, Thomas.” she giggled. “It’s nothing to worry about. It’s just the new medication Leslie prescribed. She told you about it this morning, remember?”

 

He was almost positive Leslie said nothing to him about this. “For?” he prodded.

 

“Your minor heart condition.” She stepped away from him, tossing the empty needle behind her shoulder. It clattered onto the floor.

 

She didn’t bother picking it up.

 

He wavered on his feet. “Minor heart…” There was no way he had a condition like that.

 

Bruce took a step away from her, intending to take make quick work of an escape, but his knees turned to jelly. He grasped the bars and held himself upright by sheer will.

 

“What did you...What…?” He couldn’t...think...couldn’t process... “‘Sathat?”

 

“Your medicine, of course. You had a panic attack the other day,” she said, her voice dropping into a low tenor. “She said that, along with your other injuries, strained your heart.”

 

He wasn’t sure if he should believe her or not, but he was still standing between those two bars and at her mercy.

 

Her fingers danced up his bicep. “It’s just us now, isn’t it?” she purred.

 

“Not for long. My other nurse,” Bruce said as the room spun. “She has to be coming back soon.”

 

“I don’t know who you are talking about.”

 

“She has..dark hair.” That flowed past her shoulders. He loved that about her, he thought. “'Smart, too.”

 

Beth sniffed. “Smart? I’m not to sure. I sent her off on a wild goose chase.”

 

Selina wouldn’t fall for that. His knees weakened. “What did you do?” he demanded hoarsely.

 

“Not too much. Just the usual.” She closed her eyes and took a large breath, exhaling as if in ecstasy. “She’s sometimes not too bright, that Cat,” she whispered.

 

He racked his brain for a way to escape. He had to get away from her, but the only way he could was if he let go of the bars. He could incapacitate her with a pressure point, but that would leave him vulnerable.

 

He really didn’t have a choice. He was alone, and who knew what else she’d do to him while he was vulnerable.

 

He decided to attempt it.

 

He let go of the bar with his right hand, his first mistake. The room spun wildly now. He tried to catch himself before he fell, but he couldn’t move fast enough. His arms felt like lead. His third mistake, slumping forward, right into her arms, cost him everything. Still, the weight of his body caught her off guard, and they fell, together. The back of his head slammed onto the floor.

 

He blacked out for a moment, coming to as giggling filled his ears.

 

“Oh, this is too perfect,” she whispered from above him. “That poor head of yours along with that medication will do wonders for your memory, Bruce.”

 

He blinked owlishly up at her. “Whadyasay?”

 

“Nothing you’ll remember in an hour, or the next few days, I’m sure.”

 

He opened his mouth to speak, but all he managed was another slurred protest. She crushed her lips against his, moaning into a sloppy, one-sided, wet kiss.

 

He soon tasted something metallic on his tongue. Blood. She’d bitten him.

 

Bruce moved his head to the side, barely managing an inch in his struggle. He was both repulsed and alarmed. She’d drugged him. A muscle relaxant or a sedative. Hopefully not both. He needed to be aware of what she was doing to him.

 

“Nononono, Brucie,” she squealed.

 

Shoving a knee between his thighs, she cupped his face with her hands, roughly holding his head in place.

 

He’d never felt more vulnerable.

 

“Here we are again,” she cooed, a fleck of blood unnoticed at the corner of her mouth. “And nobody can stop me. Not even him?”

 

“Him?” he rasped.

 

Her maniacal smile filled his vision, bringing with it the memory of a psychopath. A dead one.

 

“Him,” she giggled. “He thinks he can order me around, but this is much better.”

 

She breached the distance between them, shoving her tongue between his teeth. The onslaught of blood and mint and aggression sent him reeling. He muffled out a sound of protest. It was pointless, since nothing, not even his acute reluctance, seemed to deter her.

 

"Don't you see? You have nowhere to run. You can't run, or I’ll destroy you. All you have to do is agree that you care for me." Her eyes glazed over, but she was still in control. "And. You. Do,” she punctuated the last word, covering his mouth with hers in another smothering kiss that took his breath away.

 

He silently screamed at her to stop. Darkness encroaching, he managed to bite her tongue in a desperate attempt.

 

She cried out, pulling away from him. As she held her mouth, Bruce spit out blood, glaring at her.

 

Her face turned to stone. She dropped her hand, clenching it into a fist. “Well that wasn’t nice.” Her unnatural look, a far cry from the usual amiable nurse, sent a frigid shiver down his spine. “I can hear you thinking, Bruce.”

 

He had no doubt. She was delusional.

 

“You want to escape, but you can’t, not with that bum knee.” She stopped and sank back on her heels, staring down at him with a sudden, disturbing grin that showed off the blood flecking her front teeth.

 

Or lipstick. Bruce desperately hoped it was more stray lipstick. And if it wasn’t, he’d have to be tested now that fluids had been exchanged.

 

She reached down and grabbed his left knee, twisting it along with her smile. “I know it can’t handle this.” She clutched at his kneecap until stars flooded his vision, sharp pain dissolving any hope he had to get away.

 

“See? You can’t run, even if you wanted to,” she hissed.

 

"And he doesn't have to."

 

Relief washed over Bruce at the familiar voice. He didn't bother looking past the nurse at the newcomer. He knew exactly who it was.

 

 _Gordon_.

 

Beth stiffened. “You,” she accused them both. “You tricked me.”

 

Bruce felt himself fading. He closed his eyes as Gordon’s footsteps neared, confident that all would be well now that the commissioner was there.

 

"Nurse Beth, is it?” Gordon asked. “I’ve heard more than enough to implicate you of harassment and endangerment of a patient. In fact, I believe that you and I will take a nice little stroll to the car I have out back. Back away from Mr. Highland and surrender that knife you’ve got hidden in your sleeve."

 

"You have nothing," she hissed.

 

“Now, you’ve got that all wrong, honey,” a low voice said. 

 

Bruce pried his eyes open just in time to see Selina overpower Beth with a few simple moves, pushing her to the floor and onto her stomach. “‘Lina,” he managed, his tongue clumsy.

 

Selina spared him only a quick glance before pressing her knee into the small of Beth’s back. “I recorded every bit of that.”

 

Beth raised her head off the floor and sneered at Bruce. “That may be, but he won't even remember this ten minutes from now.”

 

“I’m not so sure. Andrew switched them last night.”

 

Then there was more to Andrew than just his friendly face, Bruce thought.

 

As Gordon handcuffed Beth, reading her her rights, Selina locked eyes with Bruce. He didn’t have to look too hard to see the murderous glint in her eyes when she glanced back at Beth. He could read her mind. She wanted to retaliate.

 

She shouldn’t have to stop to Beth’s level. Bruce shook his head at her with great effort.

 

Seeming to understand that it wasn’t worth it to lash out at Beth, Selina clenched her jaw and stepped away from the handcuffed nurse.

 

Gordon hefted the nurse to her feet. “Let’s go,” he said, guiding her toward the door. He handed her off to two other officers and Andrew, who took her into their custody.

 

Gordon looked back at Bruce, a worried expression in place. “He’ll be okay?”

 

Selina knelt beside Bruce and took his hand in her lap. He hadn’t realized how cold he was until Selina laced her warm fingers through his.

 

He wanted to watch her, just like this, her expression stripped of any reservations. And in place of it—a concern that bordered on being affectionate.

 

How could _this_ feel so perfect to him?

 

“He should be,” she said, searching his face. “Andrew replaced her drugs with a muscle relaxer last night, but also a mild sedative to prevent her from suspecting we were onto her. Had to make sure handsome here was still a little loopy.”

 

“And he was,” Gordon said dryly.

 

Bruce shot her an annoyed glare.

 

She looked at him amusedly. “Yes, we drugged you. We’d do it again if it meant saving your life.”

 

“Gordon.” He tried to gauge the commissioner’s reaction to his existence, looking for a sign that the commissioner wasn't going to reveal Bruce Wayne’s sudden resurrection.

 

"Don't worry, Thomas." Gordon said. "I’ll take care of this incident for you and be on my way. You have nothing more to worry about. I promise."

 

The emphasis on nothing was the assurance he needed. Gordon wouldn’t reveal his identity. In fact, it seemed as if Gordon already knew who Bruce was. But...that was impossible, wasn’t it?

 

Selina wouldn’t have told him. Bruce didn’t understand much of what was going on around him these days, but he knew the way she worked. She wouldn’t have betrayed him. Could Gordon had found out himself? It wasn’t implausible. Gordon was a detective. And a damn good one. But it meant Bruce’s world was shrinking here at the clinic. He wouldn’t be safe—and neither would Selina—if they stayed much longer.

 

“Hey,” Selina murmured. He tried to focus on her face, but it swam before his eyes. “Leslie will be coming back. She had to divert attention away from the wing. Then we’ll get you back in that bed. You alright until then?”

 

She waited, silently. He decided he felt far better than he did a moment ago, when Beth was on top of him, and gave her the barest of nods. “Yeah,” he said, the Bat’s rasp returning full force.

 

She offered him a small smile in return. His chest flooded with a warmth he wanted to last. maybe forever. She squeezed his hand.

 

He squeezed back.

 

——————-

 

The next few hours were a whirlwind for Bruce. When he was rested enough for conversation, and his stomach free of the recurring nausea, he and Selina found themselves alone.

 

He was grateful for the rescue, and told her so.

 

Selina, of course, didn’t accept the compliment gracefully. "It doesn’t make up for the other times she hurt you,” she said. “I’m sorry I failed you.”

 

“Tell me,” he said as she sat beside him on the bed. “How many times have you told me that in the past half hour?”

 

She looked sharply at him. “Not enough.”

 

He toyed with the bracelet around her wrist. “You don’t have to apologize for something that wasn’t your fault.”

 

“I shouldn't have left you. None of us should have.”

 

“You had to, in order to catch her,” he pointed out.

 

“We could’ve figured out a different way.”

 

“I doubt it,” he said quietly. “You caught her red-handed.”

 

She looked away. “I can’t believe she’d been sabotaging your progress."

 

He sighed. "Not your fault."

 

"I should’ve known,” she murmured, standing.

 

"Not your fault," he repeated. “If anything, it was my own. There was a psychopath right under my nose.”

 

“She had everyone fooled.”

 

He sighed deeply and allowed his head to sink into the pillow. “Is it warm in here, or is it just me?”

 

She pressed a hand to his face. "You're burning up again."

 

He grimaced. Another fever? “Just what I need.”

 

“You need to sleep.”

 

“I’ve been sleeping all day,” he complained.

 

“Maybe you need it.”

 

“You're s'beautiful. I wanttokissyou,” he slurred.

 

“Well, that was a non sequitur if I ever heard one.” She half-smiled and shook her head. "You’ve told me that more than once, Bruce, but always when you’re half-delirious with a fever. Like now.”

 

He tried to mesmerize her face. “Never was one for romance.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “I kinda got that.”

 

"I knew you were here. With me.”

 

He grew quiet, but so did she. She brushed his hair off his forehead, letting him study her to his heart’s content. He wanted nothing more than to sit here, together and alone, but she held herself stiffly, spine ramrod straight, her eyes darting towards the door.

 

“You have a hot date I don’t know about?” he asked.

 

“I have to speak to Gordon.” She touched his cheek. “Sleep. For however long you need. Your body is still recuperating from those cocktails she gave you.”

 

He yawned. “A million years sounds good.”

 

“Gordon is taking care of everything, including Nurse Beth. Your secret is safe with him—

 

He had numerous secrets, all of which were important to him. “Which one?”

 

“The one that climbs rooftops.”

 

“Oh, right.” His eyes flew open. “Say what now?”

 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” she said wryly. “Of course. He saw with his own eyes that you’re alive and well.”

 

He snorted. “I’m not exactly running across rooftops, now, am I?”

 

“I’d give almost anything to watch him do that again, someday. Maybe ‘well’ is a strong word.”

 

“Almost anything?”

 

“I like my freedom.”

 

“I know,” he said after a moment.

 

Yet she’d sacrificed that for him to stay here, hadn’t she?

 

She leaned forward, her lips brushing the tip of his ear with her lips. “I promise you, Bruce, that nurse will never harm you again."

 

Bruce barely suppressed a second yawn. "Who are we talking about again, Miss Kyle?"

 

The smile fell from Selina's lips, and he got the impression he’d disappointed her. "Don't worry about it, handsome. Everything's okay.”

 

And as he fell asleep, he heard it again, the soft mantra that soothed him into dreamland.

 

“Everything’s going to be just fine."

 

——

 

"So he won’t have to testify?”

 

“If we play our cards right, he won’t have to.” And if Beth kept her mouth shut about Thomas’s name, which she would to get a reduced sentence, or so it seemed.

 

“I can be of help with that,” Selina said, watching Gordon closely.

 

"Your testimony will hold up in court, and Maverick is doing all he can to protect the identity of the patient who fled the hospital.”

 

The cover was legit and, although rare, wasn’t unbelievable. Who wouldn’t flee Gotham after being assaulted by someone so unstable like Beth?

 

Selina smirked. “Is he now?”

 

Gordon shrugged. “He can handle it, as well as Andrew.”

 

That was one thing Selina had not seen coming. “You must trust him, this Andrew, with your life.”

 

Gordon couldn’t say too much about the man without betraying his confidence. “Almost as much as I do the Bat.”

 

“Is he really in law enforcement?”

 

“Just enough to do our dirty work.”

 

Selina wouldn’t press for more details, then. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”

 

“As much as I want to say yes, I believe your priority is with this man.” He inclined his head towards Bruce through the small window of his room. “You did the best thing in contacting me."

 

Miss Kyle’s face shuttered, but not before Gordon detected a hint of remorse in her eyes.

 

“It was the only way to ensure she wouldn’t do this again,” he reminded her.

 

"It wasn't what he wanted,” she admitted.

 

“He can take it.” Gordon watched Bruce through the window, released that this impromptu visit fit with his cover—he was here at the clinic searching for the missing. Apparently, “Thomas” had fled after Nurse Beth’s assault.

 

Not only was Cat a witness, but so was Gordon, who’d happened to be at the clinic to speak with Douglas Fredericks, the same time of the incident. Now back at the clinic, Gordon learned Bruce had been moved to another corridor during a fire drill. They'd no choice but to give him a new alias to cover their tracks. While Bruce, now Alex, was heavily medicated for a migraine, and therefore sedated for the rest of the day, Gordon continued his conversation with Miss Kyle without feeling guilty he was pulling her away from Wayne.

 

"Do you honestly believe that he didn't think this would happen?" Gordon smiled crookedly. "It was the only way for everything to go right and to guarantee your safety, even if things happened to go wrong, which it did."

 

"You're saying he doesn't want us to explain this to him."

 

"No, I don't believe he does. We let him heal from this, allow him to come to his own conclusions naturally."

 

" _If_ we do that..." Miss Kyle hesitated.

 

Gordon nodded, agreeing with everything she didn’t say.

 

They both knew the truth. Gordon wouldn’t come face to face with his friend and partner for a long time.

 

Her eyes flickered with regret. "I'm sorry."

 

"Don't be. If it’s best for him, I’ll wait patiently. He'll contact me...eventually." Gordon's instincts about Bruce had never failed him before. Batman had never failed him, not even in the worst of circumstances. He wouldn't start now.

 

It was clear to Gordon that Bruce had come to a conclusion. Somehow, deep inside where instincts collided with the vaguest of memories, Bruce had realized he had some sort of plan he failed to implement after his escaped from the bomb. Bruce wanted...no, he needed the freedom to realize it for himself. And his friends would wait patiently with him. It was the lead at the could do.

 

Besides, Gordon had enough on his plate to keep his mind busy and from sinking into self-pity. His ex-wife, of all people, wanted to come to Gotham to talk with him.

 

"In his own time and in his own way,” Gordon said. “He'll let me know."

 

——-

 

The horror of Nurse Beth behind them but not never forgotten, Selina waited on tenterhooks for the next opportunity to talk with Leslie. The week had been full of discoveries, beginning with Bruce expressing his wish to leave Batman and Gotham behind and ending with Bruce agreeing to see a trauma specialist.

 

She hated to even think about the longevity of Nurse Beth's deception had Bruce not remembered how she’d hurt him, but it was clear that the nurse had done more far more harm than they’d realized. Most days, it seemed like Bruce took one step forward only to take two steps back. Had it not been for the nurse's jealousy and desire to keep Bruce trapped under her thumb, Bruce would have completed more therapy, gained his strength quicker. And what if Bruce hadn’t remembered Beth hurting him that particular day? Not only that, but what if Gordon hadn’t figured out Bruce was alive in the first place?

 

Besides consistently giving Bruce a stronger muscle relaxer than Leslie had prescribed, Beth admitted to using another drug on Bruce before, but only twice. She claimed it wasn’t a drug on the market, but a stronger medication. She affirmed it would have continued to influence his decisions and behavior, wiping out his memory each time he took it, at a greater level with each dosage.

 

Beth was beyond help and deserved to be in Arkham, Selina decided, feeling no small amount of disgust for the nurse. And Bruce...he deserved whatever it was that would make him happy.

 

It had been obvious to Selina early on that Bruce's larger-than-life plan had included leaving Gotham, but to hear it from his lips so fervently was a different matter.

 

_I'm moving on. I have to. I want to leave it behind—and Gotham._

 

Selina wondered if she should press him for more details, asking him to clarify his plan as much as possible as part of his therapy. But, as Bruce weaved in and out of his memories throughout the day, and he said nothing of it again, she alternated between two choices, not one. The first, to be completely truthful with him about his desire to leave Gotham. The second, allow their conversation to carry on naturally. She hated hiding things from him, including the trauma he'd endured under the care of Nurse Beth, but with the direction of Leslie, she had to keep her mouth shut.

 

For now.

 

But this...wouldn't knowing he wanted to leave help him to remember? Should she have asked him to write down what he told her? Obviously, Bruce desire freedom from Gotham, yet Bruce was living on his own time and in his own world and he could not see it. Nor could he act upon his own desires in his current state of mind or health. In the end, Selina's instincts told her not to press him, so she didn't. Her heart warned her to keep it to herself, but for profoundly selfish reasons.

 

He wants to leave Gotham behind—but did that include leaving Selina, too?

 

She couldn’t stand to think about it, not after all that they’d been through.

 

Selina stopped her depressive train of thought and observed Bruce from several feet away. The window ledge wasn't entirely comfortable, but it lent the best vantage of Bruce Wayne in bed—or seated in his chair—without it being too obvious that was what she was doing. With Nurse Beth locked up in the county jail for now, receiving psychiatric counsel, and facing charges, Leslie had allowed Bruce to forgo his disguise for a short while he was in his new room.

 

Selina could not tear her eyes away his more natural “Wayne” look. His hair had grown long, not quite to his shoulders. Presently, he reclined in the bed, using the back brace but only because Selina had demanded it of him, insisting that it would provide him with the comfort he needed to recuperate properly.

 

He'd had an appointment with the chiropractor, who agreed about the necessary surgery, but Leslie still could not convince Bruce to agree to it. For now, wearing the brace for a short period of time or whenever he needed it would have to suffice.

 

The state of his knees wasn’t as promising. Leslie was certain Nurse Beth provoked the damage an x-ray revealed yesterday. The knee braces were coming. For now, PT was off the table. He was finally getting the proper rest he needed for his body to heal.

 

Selina sighed. How could a man look impossibly sexy crunching words with that broken body of his? Selina observed him freely, consumed as he was with a crossword puzzle for the past hour. It was a breakthrough worth sharing—this being the first time Bruce sat absorbed in any single task for such a length of time. It was slow progress. He took his time reading and filling in his answers, but Selina had no doubt that this breakthrough would not have occurred if Nurse Beth still had a grip on Bruce's health.

 

Bruce rubbed his jaw, fixated on his puzzle like the genius he still was, despite all that had happened. Selina sent a text to Leslie, urging her to come observe before it was too late.

 

"What's a three letter word for the nickname of a stealthy, rooftop burglar?" He deadpanned, still staring at the puzzle.

 

"Fun," she breathed out.

 

He peered at her. "Do you miss stealing?"

 

She missed the thrill it had once before given her, and she'd already returned the jewel earrings immediately after Gordon found Fredericks. But only because it hadn't been as thrill seeking as she'd thought. Truly, it had been a cheap thrill to irritate the nurse who irritated her. However, Nurse Beth bent over backwards to help Bruce with his migraines. At the time, Selina couldn't ignore that. Now, of course, she wished she had. "No. I’ve recently discovered that it doesn't amuse me like it once had. Could be the company I've been keeping."

 

Bruce's smile reached his eyes. He moistened his lips with his tongue, staring at her mouth. For a fleeting moment, Selina wondered if he was going to ask for a kiss.

 

Instead, he hesitated, cleared his throat, and offered a rasping _that's good_ before returning to his puzzle.

 

Selina sighed, wondering why she was so content guarding and watching this man work as he solitarily worked his way through a puzzle, all in the name of therapy.

 

Leslie arrived sooner than Selina expected.

 

"How long?" the doctor whispered.

 

"An hour." Selina bit her lip, fighting a barrage of emotions.

 

She was close to crying over a man, albeit an incredibly good-looking and mysterious man, successfully filling in blank puzzle spaces.  
she never cried, but had been reduced to these fresh emotions over and over again since staying at the clinic.

 

Damn that Bruce Wayne.

 

Despite their mutual attraction, he shouldn’t have this constant affect on her.

 

"This is good. Really good," Leslie murmured. "I didn't expect to see this from him so soon. All he needed was to get away from that woman. I'm so sorry I didn't screen her well enough.”

 

"She was beyond infatuated with him.”

 

“Yet she did care, somewhat, for his needs.”

 

“Honestly, I still don't understand it all," Selina said in a low voice.

 

Nurse Beth's comments about Bruce's safety had haunted her ever since. Gordon kept her up to speed, but so far, Nurse Beth refused to relinquish her real name. She didn’t have prints. They couldn’t find anyone who remembered her at the university where she’d supposedly earned her degree.

 

Beth hadn’t spoken much at all since her arrest. She refused to discuss the incident, save for her acceptance of the charges. She wouldn’t say who had given her the drugs. Still, it was a delicate situation with Bruce's identity on the line, but Gordon had told her to not worry. Beth had pleaded not guilty and would be headed for Arkham.

 

"The mind is a complicated thing," Leslie mused. "We may never know why."

 

"Leslie, a few days ago Bruce mentioned his desire to leave and Gotham behind him."

 

"Don't press him. It may be too much right now. We don't know yet what trauma lingers. This, Selina, is what we should focus on—small steps.”

 

"He agreed to see a specialist, even if it meant flying," Selina said.

Even if his memory improved, Leslie had mentioned her extreme concern for his migraines, especially while traveling. She waited, preparing herself for another let down.

 

But Leslie beamed. "Then we’ll do all we can to make that trip as comfortable as possible for him. It's a beautiful, new day, my dear.”

 

It was then that Bruce's concentration folded.

 

Selina's hope crashed. Bruce, clearly becoming distraught in an unfamiliar environment, hastily dropped his pencil and the puzzle he'd been diligently working on. He stared down at his lap, unsteady breaths shattering his calm mask.

 

"Don't let this get you down, Selina," Leslie whispered. "You don't need that, and neither does he. It's only been a few days since he's been away from her. He needs time, that’s all."

 

Leslie eased herself into the chair beside Bruce, smiling softly. Brow furrowed, Bruce listened without saying a word until the doctor finished informing him of his condition.

 

"I don't remember any of that, or how I—" Bruce's gaze swept the room, but when his eyes fully rested on Selina he stopped. "Miss Kyle."

 

Bruce spoke from behind a veil of formality. In spite of that indifference, she looked at him warmly. "Bruce."

 

Perhaps it was the way she imagined caressing his hand and cheek the same way she caressed his name. Or, perhaps it was the way she offered a smile in her very best effort to show him how she pledged herself to his care.

 

She let her mask fall, making herself vulnerable. In return, she saw something stirring in his eyes despite the missing, more fulfilling memories he had of her.

 

He stared at her, drinking her in. "Selina. I'm...are you..."

 

Leslie laughed. "I think you've left him speechless. That’s a first.”

 

His face flushed. It left Selina breathless and annoyed with herself. They’d had many firsts like this, and each one was just as beautiful.

 

But who, exactly, was she? An infatuated teenage girl or a nurse, minus the crazy?

 

"No," he took a deep breath. "I'm glad to see you. Although, I won't lie. I don't know why you decided to help me, considering how we last parted."

 

"I don't know what to tell you," she said, standing her ground. “So much has happened Bruce.”

 

She wouldn’t leave just because his mind had betrayed him again.

 

He shouldn't matter so much to her, but he did. She shouldn't have allowed herself to come this far, for Wayne to bleed into her heart, but she had. She couldn't explain why she had done that, either. A part of her didn't want to understand. It hurt that he’d usually remember her as thief and the woman who betrayed him to Bane. It didn't matter to her that he remembered nothing of how she saved his life or that she'd helped him save Gotham.

 

What hurt most was that he couldn't remember how he'd held her, kissed her. How they talked, learning about, without clinging to, their shared, troubled past. The way they worked so well together, more compatibly than she'd ever thought was possible. It hurt because she wanted more—a day of the healed and mentally sound Bruce Wayne. Just a day, she told herself. To see him healthy and carefree. A day, she reminded herself, to see that she'd done her part.

 

But a single day wouldn't be enough.

 

Bruce’s eyes were kind, drawing her in. “It’s a good thing that I do know what to say,” he said. He paused and smiled at her with far too much gentleness than she deserved. “Miss Kyle, I've missed you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. Please, please review?! I’m not too proud to beg for those today. I know everyone’s busy, but kind comments are fuel for me to keep going with my rewrite. :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I hope ya’ll are pleasantly surprised. Two in one day. :) Didn’t want to mention it earlier in case I failed to finish retyping the chapter—I had this chapter and another on a different device—and lo and behold, lost the documents since I couldn’t remember my passcode for it. Anyway, enjoy! Not much changed in this one, just some minor tweaks.

A dream would have made more sense, but this...this was a million times better than anything Bruce could ever imagine. It was tangible, skin-to-skin contact with a woman with whom he felt utterly comfortable but shouldn't.

 

She was an anomaly, Miss Kyle. She slept, sprawled in a chair, nestled by his side, with her hand wrapped securely around his own. The simple way she held his hand, like she cared, like she wanted to be here with him, led him to believe that something specific had happened to forge a deeper connection between them. And as he wondered more, it shocked him, for it countered his last memory of her but supported his present attraction.

 

In his other hand were a series of notes informing him that he'd saved Gotham more than a month ago, and then 'died.’ That a friend was helping him to regain his memory while he was being treated at the clinic. That he’d received injections for his weeks last week and would have two more yet today, in hopes that progress would be made and his pain lessened. Other notes were necessary but depressing. Alfred was still in the dark. Bruce’s injuries prevented him from using anything other than using a walker down the hall for short periods of time, until his proper knee braces arrived. He opted to believe the handwriting of Dr. Thompkins—and several other more elegantly, handwritten notes—rather than depend on his shortened, crippled memories.

 

As cliche as it sounded even to him, time stood still. He took in the curve of her cheeks, the length of her eyelashes, the hair that brushed her shoulders, tossed back whenever she moved her head a certain way. The things he blessedly did remember. She fascinated him, and as he kept still, as not to disturb her, he couldn't help but wonder why she stayed.

 

Another moment passed before the woman's eyes fluttered open. She watched him just as seriously as he’d watched her. Tit-for-tat.

 

"Oh," he said, vaguely disappointed. "You're awake."

 

"That's not how you're supposed to charm a girl, Wayne.” Selina stretched and yawned, very much like a feline, he thought amusedly.

 

"But I liked watching you sleep," he said honestly. "You're beautiful."

 

She watched him, eyes still full of sleep. "How long have you been awake?"

 

"About five minutes, but I caught up with everything," he announced, half-grinning and waving his fistful of notes. "When do we get to work?"

 

"Work?"

 

"My therapy." He glanced down at his notes. "Right? It says right here that I need to answer questions as part of my therapy."

 

"Pushover," Selina muttered, bringing a clipboard from behind her to her lap. "Hand them to me."

 

He did, and she moved her lips as she read the first part of the notes to herself. He tapped his fingers on the bedtray in front of him.

 

"Black does look good on you," he offered, noticing, not for the first time, the long black sweater draped over black leggings, hugging her all around the right places. She looked good. Too good. "In fact, I-"

 

"Wayne,” Selina clipped without looking at him.

 

It was a command to be quiet. Unused to being told what to do by someone other than Alfred, but just as indifferently, Bruce sat, stunned into silence. But he had nothing to do but watch her, and couldn’t help but continue to describe how beautiful she looked. At the very least, it gave him more to think about than his current lot in life.

"If you keep moving your lips like that, I’ll have to kiss you this time. That'd make it our…” He frowned. Second kiss? His heart flipped as he remembered. He had kissed Selina. Here. Not in this room, but in the clinic somewhere. Passionately. “Third kiss. Selina, we kissed, here at the clinic but not his room. I’m in a different room? Why?”

 

"Bruce!" Selina's eyes snapped up to hers. If he hadn't been as skilled as he was at reading people, he'd never noticed the glimmer of worry reflecting from their depths. "I can’t say. Please...Bruce."

 

She shifted her gaze, the notes more suited for her, apparently, than him.

 

"Sorry," he said, deflating. "I have questions and I don't know what I'm supposed to do to help."

 

"You do this.” She sighed and grabbed three items from the bag on the floor. "Study these for two minutes, and then I'll test you. Leslie won’t give you the injections until later, so I think we’ll take a short walk before testing you on these items. Until then, you need to focus. You’ve been doing much better, Bruce. You’ve stretched your short term memory past an hour or more."

 

He gave a strangled laugh. "An hour. So this isn’t a daily thing. It’s…”

 

“It’s improving, that’s what it is, Bruce.” She set the items on his tray. “And we start with these.”

 

He frowned. “Really? A nail file, watch, and pack of cards?"

 

"Yes."

 

Bruce flinched under her focused stare. “But—”

 

"Do you want to improve your short term memory or not?" she asked.

 

He looked down at the items, feeling not-so-obedient now. “Yes,” he muttered.

 

He picked up the nail file. He set it down, bored and irritated. The watch was broken. He moved on to the pack of cards, automatically shuffling them once they were in his hands.

 

She sighed. "Will you listen already?"

 

"I am."

 

"You're playing."

 

"But I'm studying." He smiled tightly. "Nail file. Watch. Cards."

 

"Say it backwards with your eyes closed."

 

"Cards. Watch..."

 

He stumbled. What was the other thing? He should start over, but what had he started with? The watch?

 

He finally remembered the cards in his hands in relief.

 

"Cards...watch," he bit his lip."Cards...watch...nail...nail file."

 

He opened his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief he hadn't been wrong, and set the cards down.

 

"Keep going," Selina urged him.

 

He looked at each item as he was told, repeating the words to himself until Selina grabbed the items and put them back in the bag.

 

"Feel up to eating, Mr. Wayne?"

 

But he had to remember. Cards, watch... Cards..,

 

"Bruce?"

 

"Hmm?" How was he going to remember these items? The nail file, cards...

 

"Bruce? Time to eat?

 

He stopped, reluctantly. "Sure.”

 

"What’s wrong?” She she asked gently. .

 

“I have a feeling I won’t remember them the next round.”

 

“Yes, you will.”

 

He grimaced. “I’m not hungry after all.”

 

“You need to eat.” Selina’s voice rose. “You’ve lost weight.”

 

“I have?” He looked down at himself and inspected his arms and wrists. He studied them, his mood taking another dive when he realized...she was right.

 

How could he forget something so basic about himself?

 

“Bruce, it’s fine. It’s okay.”

 

He watched her warily. “It’s not.”

 

“It will be. You actually gained a pound in the past week.”

 

“Why was I losing weight?” It was unusual for him, even if he was recovering from an injury. He took great pride in maintaining his weight, with muscle.

 

“I think it’s because of your migraines and…” She paused, then went on curtly. “Trauma.”

 

His mind went black. “What do you mean?”

 

“Let’s not discuss that now.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“You don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“I don’t want to…” He chuckled humorlessly. “Of course I want to talk to it.”

 

“Bruce, let it go.”

 

“But I want to talk about it,” he gritted out. “Now.”

 

She gave him a look. “Don’t argue with me. You don’t. Leslie will tell you the same thing.”

 

Bruce tried to read between the lines. “If you two are in agreement, I suppose this means I won’t get an answer...because the answer is bad news.”

 

“Well...yes.”

 

“Couldn’t you have just told me that in the beginning?”

 

She shifted in her seat. “In order for things to go as smoothly for you as they have been going this past week, we need to move on from your question.”

 

He wasn’t getting anywhere with this. “Fine.”

 

She pursed her lips. “You’re going to just drop it and agree with me. Just like that?”

 

“I’m getting the impression that it’s complicated, and I don’t do complicated very well at this time, if you haven’t noticed.”

 

She snorted. “Wayne, you’re nothing if not complicated.”

 

He huffed. “Give me a break, here.”

 

“If you promise you’ll eat.”

 

“Fine.”

 

She looked pleased. “Good. Let’s talk.”

 

“I’m not good with small talk.”

 

She stood and walked over to the small refrigerator in his room, grabbing two wrapped sandwiches. She handed him one, and keeping the other for herself, took a large, unfeminine bite. Bruce stared at her with unguarded amusement.

 

"We’ll talk only if you want," Selina garbled out without swallowing her food. "I saw Gordon this morning."

 

The news made him pause. "How is Gordon?”

 

She froze. “What….do you mean?”

 

“There was a newspaper article about the Batman memorial in my notes.”

 

“Yes.”

 

He hesitated. “Is he all right?”

 

“I believe so.” She set her sandwich down. “I visited him that day.”

 

Something awakened in his mind. A memory. "You told him who you were before you flew off with the bomb."

 

Her eyes widened. “That information was not in your notes.”

 

He set down his sandwich, unhappy about the turn in the conversation. “You saw him.”

 

“You asked me to visit him, big guy.”

 

“I did? And you actually went to see him?” He could hardly believe it. “You. Selina Kyle.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t look so shocked. You read the article about Batman and his masked friend. You saw the photograph.”

 

He knew what to she inferred, and he was certain of what he’d seen in that photograph—she’d stayed to help the Bat with the bomb. Only, something stood in her way of realizing that profound fact, stopping her from seeing herself in a different light. She was like that with many things, he mused. Helping him, for instance. He was certain she wouldn’t take credit for helping him here, either. Something bothered her and although he had a pretty good guess what that was, it wasn’t the time to unearth that part of their shared past.

 

“So, I’ve talked with him several other times, Mr. Wayne,” she said with an air of indifference. “We’re acquaintances now, I guess you’d say.”

 

“You.” He choked on his sandwich. “You and the commissioner? Friends?”

 

“Don’t look too shocked. I have my days.”

 

“I’m glad to hear it.”

 

“I told him about a missing persons’ case.”

 

Bruce stiffened, a name coming to his lips so fast he could not stop himself from speaking it. “Fredericks.”

 

Selina shot up in her chair, eyes wide. “Bruce.”

 

“I remembered,” he said shakily. “I remembered. Fredericks.”

 

“This is the third thing you remembered that wasn’t in your notes.”

 

He looked away. “Only three?”

 

“It’s a start. Do you remember what happened to him?”

 

“No,” he spat, disquieted as the memory snuffed itself out.

 

“Don’t be too hard on yourself The fact that you remembered it was Mr. Fredericks is progress.”

 

“Did you find him?”

 

“Yes. He was locked up with others in Bane’s tunnels. But he’s here at the clinic now with his family. His granddaughter has been ill.”

 

“So, because of you, he was found.” He grinned at her. “You, Selina Kyle, helped save a man’s life, saving his family from heartache.”

 

Her mouth flattened into a grim line. “Don’t look at me like that.”

 

“I bet you gave Gordon quite the shock.”

 

“I gave me a shock,” she muttered.

 

“You’re finding out what I already knew,” he said. She wouldn’t give herself credit, but he would. “You’re more than what you think you are. I wish you could see what I see.”

 

“And what is that?”

 

“A woman who wants to make a difference. But there’s more to it than that. I think you want to feel it, in your heart,” he said softly. “You’re seeing life differently, Miss Kyle, because this...helping others...is touching you in a vulnerable place. It’s uncomfortable, and I understand.”

 

“I’m adaptable,” she said, as if that explained everything.

 

He didn’t comment more, since it was possible he’d pushed a little too far. She fiddled with her sandwich, alone in her thoughts. Bruce inched his body forward to the edge of the bed. It was difficult, but he managed to take her hand.

 

“Selina,” he murmured. “She didn’t look up. “Thank you.”

 

“I did it for you. I wanted to help you. Even if it wasn't you, it was for what you left behind.”

 

“What’s left behind is my parents’ legacy,” he said.

 

“No.” Her eyes met his. “It’s yours, too. Batman’s.”

 

He tugged her closer. She came, standing while he sat, alone. She bent her head, and his eyes swept over her face. Her waist, slim and perfect under his hand, bent to his will.

 

Finally, he thought.

 

“Selina,” he whispered. Her hair cascaded over them both, a soft, luxurious curtain. Her full lips teased him beyond his reach. He traced her mouth with his eyes, imagining her lips parting, covering them with his own, and delighting in a world of Miss Kyle.

 

“Mr. Wayne,” she murmured. “We have work to do.”

 

“I’d rather we do this instead,” he whispered hoarsely. He moved his hands over her hips, traveling slowly upward. His hands lingered at the curve of her waist, just below her breasts. He was limited, in a very awkward snes, in anting he could do from here. But a little part of him died seeing her here before him. His breath hitched.

 

“Do what?” She breathed his name into his ear, like a caress.

 

To possess her, he thought, wrapping his arms around her small waist. He wanted her all to himself. His thoughts ran wild, and he rested his face against her, her hand finding its way into his hair.

 

Her hands tangled in his longer locks, and he was struck with emotion deeper than he’d ever felt before. He hadn’t felt this safe, or even cared for, in a long, long time. Maybe forever, since before Crime Alley.

 

Bruce took a staggering breath, crushed. She would leave someday. Like his parents. Rachel. Alfred.

 

She’d no reason to stay indefinitely, and he would never force her. What this was...he didn’t know what this was. But it wasn’t anything, surely, that would keep her at the clinic, with him. What if she left before he remembered her part in his recovery? He couldn’t offer her anything to keep her here, not really. Not yet. He wanted to, despite being a man who could hardly remember his own alias. He couldn’t recall what he’d eaten for breakfast, where he was, or that he’d saved a city.

 

The only thing he could offer that was a constant was his name, and that if he was able to use it again someday.

 

_Wayne._

 

It was a small...no, leap of faith. A crazy idea. Besides, he didn’t do things like that. She certainly never did.

 

“Mister Wayne, breathe.” Her hand curved around his neck.

 

How could this, a mere touch of her fingers, stroking along the nape of his neck, leave him feeling this safe?

 

“What do you need?” she whispered.

 

He withdrew his desire for a kiss. What she was doing now affected him beyond his expectation. It was enough. For if he lost this memory, this glorious memory of Selina, and her affection, it would leave a tragic, unhealable crack in his heart.

 

“This,” is all he managed to say.

 

——-

 

Selina didn’t believe him until she’d pulled away from his embrace. Even then, with that contented expression on his face, she asked again. “What do you need?”

 

She sat down beside him, waiting. He smiled, cupping her face with his long, elegant fingers. “You. Here. Like this. Where I can breathe you in.”

 

“And you say you’re not romantic.”

 

His mouth twitched at the corners. “I do read the classics.”

 

“So you’re a prudish romantic?” she asked dryly.

 

“I wouldn’t say that,” he argued.

 

His smile was still intact when Leslie came to visit, and after his injections, painful though they were.

 

He rubbed his knees, smiling _still_.

 

“I’m pleased to find you in such good spirits, Bruce.” Leslie paused at the door. “Selina, don’t forget. He walks around today.”

 

After Leslie left, Bruce was antsier than ever, like a puppy. “You’re fidgeting.”

 

He made a face. “Those shots hurt.”

 

She gave him a quick, sympathetic look before wiping it from her face, wanting to move him along before he was too tired for therapy. “Before we leave, we need to fix your disguise. Here.”

She handed him a nondescript ball cap and a worn, gray hoodie. He looked comfortable, for once, in a light-weight t-shirt and cotton pants.

 

“You’re sure the goatee and long hair will do the trick?”

 

“Yes.” She handed him a small mirror. “See for yourself. You’re not the Wayne everyone knew. No one ever saw you with facial hair.”

 

He looked the mirror, his eyebrows shooting up. “I look pale and...so gaunt. I look awf—”

 

“Like a drug lord,” she interrupted.

 

He made a noncommittal sound in his throat. “Like that’s any better.”

 

“We’ll go with teddy bear, then.”

 

He turned the cap backwards on his hand and grasped the walker. She stared at him in that hat. It took a decade off of him. He looked...adorable.

 

He stopped and frowned at her. “What?”

 

How would she get through this without kissing him? She swallowed. “Make sure you don’t talk with anyone, but if you do, don’t use your normal voice.”

 

“So use this one?” he asked, in Bat’s low rumble.

 

Her heart flipped in her chest. Was he trying to make her fall for him more? “Don’t use that one, either.”

 

“No problem.” He started walking, Selina right at his elbow when they were forced to make a u-turn. His process had slowed until she was almost certain they wouldn’t make it to the end of the corridor.

 

“I’d hoped today would be better, but I’m not sure it is,” Selina said, frowning.

 

“It’s just..the knee,” Bruce forced through clenched teeth, a grimace breaking out across his otherwise handsome face. “Like the other day.”

 

Her heart skipped a beat. “You remember doing this before?”

 

“No, but it has to be better, right?”

 

“Let’s sit.” She found a pair of chairs in the hallway and brought them over. Bruce heaved a breathe and sank down into one of them like an old man he wasn’t. “Are you all right?”

 

“Water,” he rasped, hand shaking as it fell from the walker.

 

“I forgot the water bottle,” she realized. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

 

“Without you?” Bruce rasped, perspiration lining his face. “I wouldn't dream of it.”

 

———-

 

Only a over a month ago, he’d fought the strongest, most brutal man he’d ever come across. Now, Bruce’s battle was caught between his body and a metal walker. It wasn’t that this wasn’t humbling, because it was. It was also excruciatingly hard work. But neither of these things bothered him. He’d had to recover from a major injury before. Right now, not much bothered him except for how dry his mouth had become. Since their embrace, he’d come to a conclusion. He would take this a day at a time, even if it was an hour a time, literally Neither he nor Selina could promise anything about their relationship. Even if he desired a promise with every fiber of his being. He had no right to ask anything of her.

 

Bruce wiped the sweat off his brow, dropping his arm when a small form appeared out of nowhere. She was a tiny thing, dressed in small, clinic-issued gown. Pale blue slippers stuck out from beneath her hem. She was a beautiful child, possibly three or four years old. He wasn’t familiar with children, although he thought he wanted to have at least two, maybe even four, someday. She was quieter than any child he’d ever met before, staring at him with distinct, green eyes, like she was memorizing his face.

 

“Hi, there,” he said softly. He glanced around the corridor, but no one seemed to be looking for her. He patted the seat next to him. “Want a seat?”

 

She hopped up onto the chair. He admired her bravery, but would caution her later for taking with a stranger, once he figured out to whom she belonged.

 

“What’s your name?” he asked her.

 

She offered nothing. Bruce barked out a small laugh. “I hope this is your way of telling me your mother taught you to never talk to strangers.” He leaned forward with a grin. “That’s good advice. Me? I’m Alex, a patient here.”

 

“Sick?”

 

He nodded somberly. “But I’m getting better.”

 

“Me, too,” she whispered. “I wanna go home.”

 

He could relate. “There’s no place like it, is there?”

 

He had no home to go to after this. Years ago, he would have embraced the idea of being a nomad, as well as the adventure, but now it seemed like an impossible mountain to climb. And he, Bruce, lacked the physical and mental skills to climb it.

 

“I miss my mommy.”

 

“Is she waiting for you at home?”

 

The child shook her head.

 

“Is she here?” He smiled, urging her to answer. “You can’t find her?”

 

She nodded.

 

“Okay. You’re lost.” He couldn’t imagine how anyone lost this delightful little girl, but he sensed the child did this kind of things often. She was small and quiet—and curious.

 

She nodded again.

 

“I know the feeling.” He sighed. “I don’t think it would be wise for either of us to get up and look for your mother right now. I don’t get around too well. But, I’ll stay right here with you until she finds you. I’m certain she’ll be here soon.”

 

She scooted towards him, leaning against his arm while she curled her feet under her.

 

“Now, let’s see.” He put his hand on his chin, pretending to look at her in deep thought. “You’re three, aren’t you?”

 

She beamed and held up three fingers..and then...something pink and black in her other hand.

 

“Huh.” He stared at the journal. “Did Cat give you that?”

 

“Angel lady.” She opened a page and pointed to a tiny drawing at the bottom of a page. “Papa.”

 

“Did you draw this?” He gazed in amazement at the quality of the sketch. She was so young to possess such skill. A man with gray hair sat in what looked to be a cave, his face sad.

 

She pointed again. “Papa was lost.”

 

Bruce blinked as he made the connection. “Cora. You’re Cora, and he…” He tapped his finger on the drawing. “He’s your grandfather. He works for Wayne Enterprises.”

 

“I want Mama.”

 

“I know you do,” he said kindly. “I promise I won’t leaves until she finds you.”

 

“I see you’ve made a new friend.” Selina appeared and handed him a bottle, eyes narrowing on the child. “Cora? What are you doing here?”

 

“I’m lost.” Her lower lip trembled. “Mommy will be mad.”

 

“She’ll be happy to see you,” Bruce assured her. “Would you like Cat to take you to your mother?”

 

Selina glanced sharply at him. “I won’t leave you here alone again.”

 

He shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”

 

Cora shook her head, her serious expression far too old for such a young child. It saddened him.

 

“You’ll get lost,” she said in a small voice.

 

He smiled. “I won’t, I promise.”

 

“I like you.” Cora sniffed and wiped at her nose in typical, childlike fashion. And when she snuggled against his chest, messy nose and all, he hardly minded. “Don’t get lost.”

 

“I like you, too. And I promise.” Bruce wiped the tear coursing down her cheek. “I won’t get lost. I’ll stay right here until Cat comes back. She helps take care of me.”

 

“Promise?”

 

He nodded. “I promise. And maybe we can meet again. I’d love to see your drawings. She gave me the same journal,” he said, then winked at her. “But, how did she know I like pink?”

 

Cora giggled.

 

Close to an hour later Bruce’s mind reset many details of the evening. And although it was the only new thing that he actually recalled, he spoke of Cora’s laughter first.

 

“I met Fredericks’ granddaughter?” He was happy to hear the child had liked him. He wanted to remember their interaction, but knowing he’d made her smile was good enough for now.

 

Selina looked at him, an odd expression on her face. “You’re good with kids.”

 

“I am?”

 

“Yes. In fact, you’re like a magnet. A child magnet.”

 

“Me? Child magnet?” Bruce sat back with his arms crossed, grinning. “That’s a new one.”

 

“Yes, you. Bruce Wayne, the child magnet. She was glued to your side and she doesn’t even know you.”

 

“I hope to have a few of my own someday,” he said absently, already preparing his mind once again for the work which made his head spin.

 

Therapy.

 

But it was therapy with Selina Kyle and, for that reason alone, he’d tolerate anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please, please review?! I would love to hear from you! Your comments are wonderful inspiration. :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, just minor tweaks, thankfully. When I don’t have to add to scenes, these updates will come a lot quicker. So, on one hand, that’s good. On the other hand, you just won’t get “new” stuff for a few updates more. :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy the update!

"Miss Asher."

 

It had been a late night, a long day, and another night twice as long. Selina had hardly expected to see Fredericks' daughter, wandering around in the middle of the clinic at six in the morning. But, here she was, looking expectantly at her.

 

She was torn. Bruce needed his breakfast. The less time she wasted chatting, even with Annette, the better. Like always, the migraine had left Bruce wrung out. He couldn't afford any more setbacks, especially since Leslie had appointed Selina to discuss a rising issue with him. The conversation wouldn’t be exactly pleasant. He’d take it better on a full stomach, but she could just imagine his bloodiness if she ignored Annette and her family because of him.

 

“How’s Cora?" she asked politely.

 

"She's much better. Dr. Thompkins has done so much for her. I don't think I could ever thank her enough." Annette hesitated. "Is it true what they said in the paper about that nurse? She hurt your patient?"

 

That was what she wanted to talk about? "I'm not at liberty to say, but I am glad he’s safe from her."

 

"But they don’t know where he is?”

 

“No,” she said. “But they’re working on some leads.”

 

“I do hope he’s okay.”

 

“I’m sure he is. Thomas was...resourceful.”

 

“I’m thankful she never laid a hand on Cora." Annette shivered. "But your patient—he suffered from memory loss, didn’t he? Not many know this, but I worked as a nurse for a short time before I was married. I had many patients who suffered from head injuries. No wonder you looked so tired all the time.”

 

"Thanks," Selina said dryly.

 

"Let me reword that.” Annette gave her a small smile. "You worked so hard, and you still do, and now I understand. I hope this new patient isn’t as ill as Thomas was. It’s challenging enough, working in these conditions, with Gotham struggling so.”

 

Selina nodded absently. This small-talk was taking up too much time already, and she had never been one for small talk even when she was being herself. Her other identities were a different story.

 

"I know you're busy, but I also wanted to thank you for the other day.” Annette wrapped her arms around herself, the woman's look of desperation all that stopped Selina from turning on her heel and leaving. "Cora slipped out of the room after I’d fallen asleep. She’s done it before, when I forget to lock the door."

 

"It was no trouble." Cora had tucked her hand into Selina's as she led her back to her room. It had been a pleasant experience, but Selina had had little interaction with kids so young as Annette’s little girl. But when she thought of how Cora rewarded her with a sweet smile not unlike the one she'd given Bruce, she couldn’t help smile to herself.

 

"She said the man who sat with her was very nice and handsome,” Annette added, smiling at Selina. “Any chemistry?”

 

Out of the mouth of babes. "He’s just as stubborn."

 

"I guess it's true.” Annette chuckled. "You're a lucky woman to be caring for him—” She stopped abruptly, looking past Selina’s shoulder.

 

Selina glanced back, but all she saw was a security guard crossing the hallway, who looked at them.

 

Fresh creases of strain formed around Annette’s mouth.

 

"Do you know him?" Selina asked quietly.

 

Annette's face whitened. "No," came the obvious, forced lie.

 

"Are you in more trouble?" Selina asked, voice low.

 

"I should check on Cora and my father." Annette straightened her thin shoulders.

 

But Selina knew the look of a cornered woman when she saw one. She blocked Annette from leaving. "I can see you're upset. Who is that man, Annette?"

 

Annette clenched her hands and turned the other way. "No one."

 

Selina grabbed her arm. "You've been here longer than I expected and as you said, Cora is doing well," she found herself saying. She’d butt in for the sake of her daughter, she told herself. "Do you have another place to go?

 

Annette drew a sharp breath, squeezing her eyes shut. "You're right," she whispered. "We’ve been here awhile, maybe too long. Dr. Thompkins allowed us to stay on an extra few days until I figure where out to go. My father's house is in ruins, Cat. We can't go there. Sleeping on two chairs next to my daughter's bed is nothing compared to being on the streets like we were, Miss Asher. My father is still too frail to worry, and it's nothing of his doing. My husband..."

 

The security guard crossed the hallway again, pausing to look at them. Recognition flickered in the man's eyes as they passed over Annette. Selina stepped to block his line of sight, and the guard continued along his way.

 

"He’s dangerous,” Selina decided. “You’re afraid of him.”

 

"No," Annette blurted out. "He's just someone that my husband had known through his...business activities. He recognized me. That's all. He wasn't as involved as my husband...I don't think I really have anything to worry about, not if we leave in a few short days. Besides, security is good here."

 

Security was better now that Beth was gone, but it still needed improvement. Or, rather, spare officers, but Gotham had none to spare.

 

Thankfully, no one came into the clinic without proper screening. Leslie ran more than a thorough background check on her employees, and especially her security, so it was doubtful the man was shifty. But after what happened with Nurse Beth, Selina didn't think it would hurt if she looked into it, too. Or at the very least, remain on guard. She prayed Nurse Beth had been the exception. "Maybe you should think about accepting the police detail, like the commissioner suggested."

 

"No," Annette replied all too quickly. "We're fine. Especially here. My father already talked with Commissioner Gordon, as you know, but there’s no danger here. Besides, we don't want to call attention to ourselves."

 

"Do you need help finding a place to stay after you leave the clinic?" Something about that man frightened Annette. And when Selina imagined Annette's daughter in danger because no one looked into the damn security guard, she couldn’t walk away from this. What was left to the imagination—the "business" Annette mentioned—disturbed Selina even more. If someone wanted to get to Annette or even Fredericks badly enough, they’d find a way to get past security.

 

"No," Annette's eyes darted past Selina, searching for the guard. "I should go. Don't worry about us. I was on my own before my husband died."

 

"As someone who has been on her own for years, I understand. Let me help you." Selina said.

 

"Thank you, but I'm sure we'll be fine." Annette smiled tightly and walked away.

 

Selina stood there for a moment, watching Annette’s back. The woman wasn’t telling her the truth—again. Trouble was on the rise, and Annette too stubborn to protect her own daughter.

 

Not that she could blame her. In the same situation, Selina would probably have kept running, too.

 

Her mind whirling with possibilities of their current predicament, she made her way back to Bruce's room. She closed the door softly behind her, but didn’t move towards him, allowing her thoughts widen the divide between them.

 

“Lina?” He was still awake, hair mussed and squinting at her as if the light hurt him.

 

“Your head, still?”

 

The nod was almost imperceptible. “Neck, too.”

 

“Well, I’ll give you a massage. Would that help?” She continuously lost sleep, worrying about Bruce, and now she’d lose more, worrying about the single mother and her daughter. Yet another sign that Bruce Wayne had changed her in such a short time, and another reason why she was compelled to stay with him.

 

But, if she were honest with herself, it was with more than compulsion by now.

 

“Hate to inconvenience you,” he rasped.

 

“I’ve been inconvenienced ever since I met you,” she said, and moved forward, into the light of his small grin.

 

\------

 

The morning had not gone smoothly. Waking up to a migraine would never be a promising sign, but seeing Miss Kyle stroll into his room for a second time in one hour was a dream come true.

 

She’d been usually quiet the first time, too, having administered his medication and then leaving, promising to return soon with his breakfast. After she’d left, he'd found his notes and tried to work despite his nausea and slight tremble of his hands. He’d been miserable, but he couldn’t decide if it was from his hunger—or missing Selina. If it was the latter, he had fallen for her, hard.

 

Now, after she’d laid out those three items for him to remember, teased him about his protein shakes, and bantered with him about the backwards way he wanted to wear his hat, he was a contented man. And he savored it. He reveled in each moment with her, when his world felt at peace if not normal.

 

But then she withdrew from him. His hand grew cold without hers, and as she stood by the window, the chasm widened even more than before.

 

He was at a loss.

 

"Cat? What is it?”

 

"It’s Gordon.”

 

He felt a flash of panic. Why she would bring up the commissioner? “Did something happen to him?”

 

“No,” she said swiftly, turning around. “Nothing like that.”

 

“Then...what is it?”

 

"Leslie and I made a few decisions, one being not to explain them to you at the time. But since your migraines have worsened, we think it's best for you to know before things...."

 

“Go from bad to worse?” he asked dryly.

 

Dread stirred in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t sure what he detested the most—his mental state or the fact that he couldn’t make a decision on his own.

 

Her eyes softened on him. "Bruce, you told him who you were before you flew off with the bomb."

 

He didn't like the turn in the conversation. That information had not been in his notes. “No, you’re wrong. I never did that.”

 

"I didn't tell him you were alive." Her slender hand touched his wrist. "Bruce, it's okay."

 

"You didn't tell him." He wiped his mouth with the back of his other hand, leaving it there. He felt like he was going to be sick. "You didn't, did you?"

 

"No," she said. Bruce watched her closely. She was hiding something from him behind that steady, almost unreadable expression of hers. "Does it bother you that much to think that I did?"

 

"Yes," he said through clenched teeth. He wondered if he was ever going to not feel like a burden to everyone. "He has enough to worry about than to add me to the mix."

 

"Knowing that, I'm still going to be straight with you, Mister Wayne."

 

He strangled out a sigh. "So it’s Mister Wayne again? Is this my punishment for being so broody?”

 

"Yes—I mean, no."

 

He threw her a look.

 

She sighed. “Listen, Bruce. You agreed to see someone about your migraines. This means we'll have to fly, but you still agreed."

 

"I did?"

 

She pulled out his journal, opened it to a page in the middle, and handed it to him. "I thought it would be overwhelming to read on your own."

 

His own handwriting assured that Selina spoke the truth. Still, it didn’t make things any easier. Flying? Like this? "Selina...I don't…”

 

"You changed your mind?"

 

"What does this have to do with Gordon?"

 

"Leslie has to stay here at the clinic, but she'll catch up to us if she can. You would be able to go in a week, after the knee braces arrive."

 

"What does this have to do with Gordon," he said, fighting to keep his anger in check.

 

Selina took a deep breath. "I think we need another person on board with all of this, no pun intended. If only for a day or two. Especially for transport to the airport, private or otherwise, and settling you into the facility before the duration of the tests."

 

"Selina, he’s busy here," he argued, "helping the city get back on its feet."

 

"Gordon is busy, but by the time you'll be physically able to make the trip, more time will have passed. We need at most three days of his time. I thought of Blake, but Gordon has more history with you. I saw him the day they dedicated the Batman monument, and he's busy, yes, but he looks tired. He could use a different sort of job for a few days." Selina leaned forward excitedly. "Gordon could think of numerous creative ways to help you work through things if we're standing in the airport and your brain resets while I'm getting our tickets, or the luggage, or the taxi, or any of the other million things I will have to do for you."

 

She was right, but he still groused.

 

"No." If he were honest, he said it to be contrary and elicit a strong reaction from her.

 

He was not disappointed. She uncrossed her legs in a huff, her dark eyes searing his, but it had the opposite effect on him than she probably wanted.

 

He couldn’t fight a grin. “If I‘d known how worked up you’d get, I would be this stubborn more often.”

 

"Bruce, be serious,” she gritted out.

 

"No." He pushed his tray aside and edged to the end of the bed, bracing himself with his arms.

 

She stood, looking uncharacteristically panicked. "What are you doing?"

 

"I'm going to take a little stroll,” he said calmly. “To clear my head. Maybe you should, too.”

 

"I still have to help you get out of bed."

 

"Why?" He pushed himself forward, but the pain took his breath away. He stiffened, falling back onto the bed with a groan, gasping through several breaths. "What was that, Selina?"

 

"You had some aggravation to..." Selina clamped her mouth shut.

 

Aggravation? It felt like a major injury to him. "To what?" he demanded.

 

"Your back."

 

"I missed the memo on that," he grumbled.

 

She helped him sit up again, and while he was catching his breath, scribbled a note on her clipboard.

 

"What are you writing?" He wiped at the endless sweat forming on his brow.

 

"That you forgot about your back just minutes after reading about it."

 

"It sounds like things aren't getting any better.”

 

"No," she said firmly. "Don't even start saying that things aren't getting better for you. They are."

 

He wondered if anything had improved. If they were all lying to themselves.

 

"Here." Selina moved beside him. Her body nestled against his good side, a welcome change.

 

He couldn’t keep his eyes from drifting over her lithe form.

 

“Something wrong, Mr. Wayne?"

 

Her velvet voice taunted him, reminding him of the night he’d held her in his arms, dancing and flirting before the storm hit. Reminding him of another time that they—

 

"Bruce." The warmth in her voice pulled him back in, and he gave her his full attention. "On the count of three, you’re going to stand. Push off the floor, mostly with your right leg. And use this cane until I grab that walker for you." She handed him the same cane that he’d been glaring at for the past twenty minutes.

 

"Why only the right leg?" He tested his weight, the top of the cane digging into the palm of his hand.

 

"We're still waiting on your knee braces, and that's the knee that hurts less."

 

He nodded, preparing for the discomfort he remembered in his knee, the pain he'd allowed himself to endure for eight long years. On the count of three, he was standing...in a hunched sort of way.

 

“All I need is a lump on my back and gargoyle,” he muttered.

 

She snorted. "We'll get that brace for your back when you're done,” she said apologetically. “It will be tender for awhile and keep you from running marathons."

 

"My knees...keep me...from doing...marathons," he huffed.

 

“What exactly went wrong with your knees? Leslie never told me."

 

"No cartilage." There was more to it than that, but Bruce was in no mood to discuss the night that had taken place eight years ago.

 

"That sounds...painful. How does something like that even happen?"

 

"I can’t be sure, but I don't think I can blame water polo for that one."

 

She shook her head amusedly. “Probably not.”

 

As they made their way down the hallway, he was relieved that she hadn’t asked him again. It was a bitter reminder of all his mistakes with Rachel. Alfred. Himself.

 

They were both quiet, but he took comfort in that. His walk took well over thirty minutes, and as they traveled back to his room, he’d been reduced to sweat and rasping brethas—and feeling like he’d aged three decades.

 

“I need another shower,” he complained.

 

“In time,” she said. “I think you need a minute.”

 

Bruce exhaled in relief when he could sit down again. But even then, he felt as if his kneecaps had been struck by a million needles and his back slugged with a hundred ton mallet. When Selina started to recline his bed, he raised his hand to stop her.

 

"No. I'd like to just...sit…”

 

She looked at him skeptically.

 

“Please."

 

"Okay," she said quietly.

 

She handed him a glass of cool water. "Thank you," he said between sips. "I think...you've done this before. Unfair advantage."

 

"Maybe, but so have you. You're getting stronger and doing better, even if you can't see it," she said. "I think today is harder because yesterday you had a migraine and didn't get out of bed. We need to keep you moving."

 

He agreed. "Don't give me any days off. Or hours.”

 

"As you wish,” she said, shrugging. "It’s time to continue your therapy. I'll give you a minute before I ask you about those three items I set out a little bit ago. And, after that, we need to continue our conversation."

 

He ran a hand through his hair, tension traveling fast up his shoulders as she posed to ask him questions.

 

“I’m not sure this is a good idea right now.”

 

She smirked. “You asked for it, remember?”

 

“I changed my mind.”

 

“You can’t, not when I’m in charge.”

 

He flicked an imaginary piece of lint off his sleeve. “Fine. Ask away.”

 

"Bruce, what were the three items I set out for you?"

 

He closed his eyes—and saw three shadows. “I see shadows.”

 

"Think of just one."

 

"Keys?"

 

"No," she said. "Try again."

 

"A book."

 

"No."

 

"Okay, okay." He rubbed at a new knot of tension at his forehead. "Something that I played with in my hands. Cards?”

 

"Yes, that’s right. Cards.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “You do that every time those are out. Go on.”

 

He frowned. “How many more do I need to remember?”

 

“Two, Bruce.”

 

"A ball." He glanced up, saw the shake of her head, and sighed again. "No. Okay. I...something I wear?"

 

" You're close."

 

"A hat?"

 

She shook her head.

 

He scowled. "Selina, I don't know."

 

"It's okay. That was progress."

 

"No, that was a damn good guess.”

 

She sent him a annoyed look. “Stop being a smart ass.”

 

“Hard not to be one right now.”

 

“Try harder, Bruce. You got one correct and almost another. It’s the closest you've ever gotten to remembering the items. Let’s move on to the next exercise. I can tell you're getting another headache. What is the month?"

 

"A cold one. Maybe you should bring me some gloves tomorrow."

 

She glanced back at the frosted window behind her, sighing. "No, I guess you don't remember."

 

“You don’t say.”

 

She glared at him. "How many days have you been here at the clinic?"

 

He didn't know that either and, from the way Selina's expression closed, it must be longer than he thought.

 

He suddenly wanted to start this exercise over. "This is...this is hard for you." A lump grew in his throat. "I didn’t realize. I'm sorry. I’m being...selfish.”

 

“It’s understandable. This is harder for you."

 

"But I can't remember how hard it is for me.” He offered her a lopsided grin. "You forget."

 

"Charming,” she said dryly. “Bruce, you’re avoiding the last question. How many days?"

 

“If I don’t answer, we won’t know I’m stuck in the past,” he offered. “Might be better that way this time.”

 

"Bruce, just answer my question.”

 

"Can we just forget this for now?" He swallowed. "Please."

 

She looked away, but not before he saw a single tear trailing down her cheek.

 

Selina, queen of masquerades, had finally cracked.

 

He hated that he had caused her to break. He took a deep breath. "It's just...I've had a very nice time with you, and I don't want to ruin it like this. Please, Selina. I know I won't remember any of this, but I feel something now that I don't want to lose."

 

"Leslie wants you to answer." Selina's voice wavered. Barely. Someone who didn't understand her wouldn't have noticed. But he did. He always would. "If you don't answer, Bruce, she'll have my head."

 

"Can't we just leave it alone for now?"

 

"Answer the question."

 

He tempered his voice with as much coolness he could muster. "I. Don't. Know. There, are you happy?"

 

"You're alive, Bruce." Selina snapped. "So yes, I am happy. You've been at the clinic for more than a month.”

 

Shock sucked his mouth dry. “What?”

 

“You’ve been at the link I for six, no, eight weeks. I've sat here with you, twelve hours a day, at least, every single day of those eight weeks.” Her voice faded. “And in a little while, you won't remember any of this but maybe one thing, if we’re lucky, And I'll stay, like always, and we'll try again.”

 

"Why couldn't you have left it alone, just for this once?"

 

She wiped her eyes with both hands. "Because, Bruce, it could be the one time you remember."

 

He sat back, stunned. "Months," he repeated hoarsely. "I've been here two entire months. Selina, I can't even remember...Selina, I can't let you down anymore."

 

"You can’t control it. Yes, it’s been two months but each day is a little better. You are not letting me down. It's quite the opposite. You've made progress." She leaned forward, eyes filling with determination. "Leslie will set up an appointment with a trauma specialist. I'm certain we'll get the answers we need."

 

"Specialist," he repeated. "Where?"

 

"We have several options, and considering that we'll have to fly for any of them-"

 

"Fly?"

 

Selina nodded. "We'll try to find a smaller, private airport."

 

He shrugged. "That’s easy. I know of the perfect airport."

 

She looked at him doubtfully. “Right.”

 

"I do." He paused. "Mine."

 

She blinked at him. "You have an airport? I thought you were broke."

 

"Hardly. I have offshore accounts."

 

"You never thought to mention this before?" Selina said, her exasperation clear.

 

Bruce shrugged. "How am I supposed to know that?" He couldn't help but get defensive. "Maybe I did think of it and then...forgot to tell you."

 

Selina stared at him for a long moment and exhaled a slow breath. "Bruce, I'm sorry. I suppose you probably weren't able to connect the dots for yourself and tell me in time before you forgot all over again. This is only the fourth time I've gone over Leslie's plan with you."

 

"Four times should be enough," he muttered. He picked up his pencil—and feeling very much like breaking it in two—began to write in his journal. He scrawled in what information he could recall about the airport, tore out the page, and handed it to her. "Here. The airport is four hours away. I own it under another alias."

 

"Four hours worth of driving before we fly?" Selina asked. "Bruce, I need to ask Gordon to come with us."

 

"Gordon? Why? Does he know that I'm here?"

 

Selina's lips tightened.

 

He shook his head at himself. "We've discussed this already."

 

She didn’t answer.

 

He sighed. "Just a little bit ago, I take it."

 

"Yes," she said thinly.

 

"Does he know?" he asked.

 

"Would it matter if he did? Bruce, since Leslie can't leave the clinic—"

 

"No," Bruce broke in, seeing where she was going. "She can't leave. She’s the backbone of this place.”

 

Selina's tense smile took him aback. "I know she is, Bruce. She'll stay at the clinic where she’s most needed, but I can't take care of you, drive us, and get you settled without help."

 

Bruce followed the weary lines of her shoulders, the way her hair haphazardly fell from her ponytail, and what looked like bruises underneath her eyes. She's exhausted. It hit Bruce like a freight train. He couldn't even begin to imagine the immeasurable sacrifices she'd made to help him. Had he monopolized all her time? Drained her emotionally with his pathetic state? Had anyone else but Leslie and Selina been helping him? He could only imagine the stress caring for someone in his situation. Selina needed to let Gordon know, not only for Bruce's sake, but for hers.

 

"Alright." He agreed for her sake—not his. Bruce hoped Gordon could forgive him for burdening him with this. "You can ask Gordon."

 

Selina brought a hand up to her face, obviously avoiding him.

 

"You're upset with me again.” He watched her, appalled at himself. He was acting like a child. This strong, independent woman had reached a physical and emotional breaking point—because of him. "I'm sorry, Selina. I know this is my fault. All of it.”

 

"It's not your fault," she said.

 

"What can I do to make it up to you?” he asked humbly.

 

"I'm just happy," was the mumbled reply.

 

"Sure. That's what all women say when a man with short-term memory loss finally realizes he’s been a selfish ass and agrees with the plan he was too stubborn to agree with in the first place."

 

Selina snorted, dropping the hand from her face. Despite the traces of tears, she’d never been more beautiful to him.

 

"Bruce, I never cry,” she complained.

 

"I’m going to make it up to you, Cat.” He smiled. Informing Gordon that Batman was alive and needed his help? It would be the fun she didn’t know she needed.

 

She looked suspiciously at him. "What are you thinking?"

 

His smile widened, certain she'd arise to the occasion even if he couldn't. "How would you like to visit my cave?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Reviews are always welcome and greatly appreciated. <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I guess this has new material, after all, thus the little added wait. More on Andrew in this update, and Gordon’s family. Bringing them in the mix, too. There will be a subplot going on with...well, you’ll see. ;) 
> 
> When I began this story four years ago, I didn’t have the proper “headspace” available for dealing with Jim Gordon and several other characters, still getting my feet wet with writing full-length stories. But I have grown to love Gordon and, as a result, have put together a plan to include the family in this rewrite, hopefully making for a richer, more rounded story. :)

 

Sunlight hit Gordon unfavorably across his face, true to form. He’d sacked out on his living room couch the night before, directly below the window. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. Now, however, it was a rude awakening when all he wanted to do was bury his head under the covers.

 

With a faint groan, he moved his head and squinted against the light. It took a great effort to check his watch.

 

Seven in the morning.

 

He groaned again, kicking himself for thinking he was a college kid who could stay up late and sleep anywhere without his bones screaming at him the next morning.

 

Seven in the morning, and he was still in his clothes from the day before, on the damn, twenty-year-old sofa. Barbara had left it at the house because its cushions sagged, but Gordon had a feeling it was discarded because since it was a reminder of their failed marriage. Broken, just like they were.

 

He should have left for the station more than an hour ago to keep ahead of his work—and he should have donated the sorry-looking couch months ago. Instead, he left it in his house, the memory of his beautiful wife festering.

 

The chaos in Gotham post-Bane still demanded his all and then some, even after two months of freedom. But with outside help, things were becoming more manageable. People had returned to their homes, no matter what the condition they were in, proving their loyalty to the city. The food supply was nearly normalized, thanks to donations from all over the state, and the daily routines of Gotham citizens were slowly mending, just like their roads and buildings were.

 

But the loss of so many on the force had hit hard, and getting the city back on its feet also meant rounding up the criminals who'd escaped Blackgate. Oddly enough, despite hundreds of criminals at large, they'd been quiet. He imagined many had fled Gotham altogether, but it was obvious others had hid themselves in the depths of the city’s pain, shrouding themselves in the cloak of night until brighter days dawned, bringing with them financial prosperity they could exploit.

 

He just prayed the new officers in town could handle the task before them without the Batman.

 

Seven was late, he thought, disgusted he’d allowed himself to sleep in. Swamped with work from the instant he stepped into his office, he began each day bright and early, a necessary evil if he wanted to get through the day in one piece.

 

After making himself somewhat presentable for work, he grabbed his coat from the floor, where he’d tossed it the night before, too exhausted to hang it up properly or drape it over a chair. Maybe he was a slob like Barbara had hinted all these years. He shrugged it on as he walked through the kitchen to the backdoor, not bothering to stick a hand in the refrigerator for the milk or for a bagel to toast. He had no appetite. Despite the public memorial for Batman and his ultimate sacrifice, learning that said hero lived, and saving Wayne from a woman who reminded him all too much of the Joker, Gordon's depression latched on to him with greedy fingers, mercilessly dragging him in the proverbial dust.

 

He was here, alive and well. That was, mostly well, considering he was a divorcee and never saw his children.

 

Yet it was better than what anyone could say about Bruce Wayne, the dead _or_ alive one.

 

It made him sick to his stomach to dwell on that fact that his friend—a long-time, faithful friend—had died and thus resurrected, plagued slow-healing injuries and stunted memory.

 

Gordon argued with himself that it was enough to depress just about anyone. Although he was relieved his friend was a living, breathing human being and not a grave marker, and had even put up a wonderful front that he was content for now to keep himself at a distance, the lost feeling stuck to him like a life-sucking leech. He felt lost—because he wanted, desperately, to his friend. But, ironically, the way in which he _could_ help Bruce was to stay away.

 

It sounded ridiculous, but he’d almost wished—-

 

No, he shook the thought away. He wanted Wayne alive and well, and moving on with his life, away from Gotham. He’d do whatever he could to make this transition easier for him, like Leslie had insisted.

 

But his uselessness plagued him, and more people were taking notice. Andrew had been the first. When he’d discussed Bruce’s situation with the young man, to help alleviate his own guilt weeks ago, without saying a word to Selina or Dr. Thompkins, Andrew had listened with an empathetic ear, agreeing to help him instantly.

 

Even his ex-wife had sensed the difference in him, her observations bleeding into the kids’ perception of things, of course. He didn’t explain anything to her, no matter how insistent she became. She was insisting on coming and bringing the children for a visit, now that the Bat was gone, and Babs wanting to look into Gotham U, instead. To think that Babs was an adult, a young woman in her second year of college, was unthinkable to him. Just yesterday, she’d wanted a pony and those purple-framed glasses.

 

Her maturity was a reminder that nothing ever lasted. His daughter was growing up. Jimmy, too, although his son had grown bitter towards Batman because of his parents’ split. Could Gordon blame him? Honestly, he couldn’t, and he never tried to make excuses.

 

The truth was, he couldn't refuse his wife or daughter or son, but Babs even less. They’d always had a unique bond. She was the one member of their family who understood his dedication to the force. To Gotham. And…to Batman.

 

He wanted to see them, all of them. Even Barbara. Yet, with Wayne’s health in balance, and his overworked self, he’d tried delaying the inevitable visit.

 

He couldn’t make excuses forever, and they’d called his bluff. They were coming. And soon. Maybe now that Gotham was getting a fresh start, he and his family could, too.

 

Gordon flipped the lightswitch and placed his hand on the doorknob. Nothing but his own stubbornness was stopping him from being both the father he should be and the friend. He was nothing if not patient, he told himself. His years with the force—and partnership with a man like the Batman—proved it.

 

He heaved a sigh and took a second glance at his kitchen—the small, dark object jutting from the back of his chair.

 

It couldn't be.

 

He abandoned the thought of leaving and took the familiar metal-shaped batarang and the note pinned underneath, placing them both in the palm of his hands. The weighed his hands with memories and hope.

 

_Station roof tomorrow morning. Five a.m. No earlier. We need to talk._

 

"Station roof," Gordon murmured.

 

He hadn’t been up to the top in months. Signed by fancily scrawled initials, "S.K.," the note made some sense, given who he knew to be "S.K" and that she’d used one of Batman's original and symbolized tools.

 

It made no sense that, as the day passed by, Gordon's depression lifted exponentially. For all he knew, nothing had changed in regards to Wayne’s status. Since the day they’d saved Wayne from the nurse, who was now settled in Arkham in Ward B, Gordon had returned to the clinic only twice. He’d questioned Fredericks, pleading with him to reconsider his offer, to protect his family even while they remained at the clinic. Fredericks had refused, again, forcing Gordon to consider other options.

 

But until Bruce remembered he'd told Gordon his true identity or at least wanted Gordon to know he was alive, Gordon needed to stay away. Anything else was too difficult to bear. As it was, Bruce Wayne still didn’t want Gordon to know his secret but, even worse, Wayne’s mental and physical condition hadn't improved much at all.

 

But for all that Gordon hoped?

 

It would take a miracle he was certain that even the Bat could not deliver on his own.

 

______

 

Stepping foot into Bruce's dark world without him would be the most irrelevant thing she’d ever done, Selina thought. Although it would be irreverent, the drive through the Palisades only tantalized her until she stepped foot into his sanctuary, without the guilt she’d thought she’d feel.

 

No, it was freedom and discovery, rolled into one. She was well-aware that she was a lucky girl. This was Batman’s lair, and proof of Bruce’s darker, self.

 

She didn't know what to expect when she came to the Palisades, but the lush foliage on the journey there was throwing her. But only a little.

 

Until she came to a dead end.

 

Was he insane? Selina stared at the water sweeping over the rocks at full throttle. She was all about adventure, but this powerful watchful, and the unknown behind it...this was heart-racing, nerve-wracking, and irreverent. She hated water, except if it was in a lavender-soothing bath.

 

She pulled out her phone, and if she even grumbled a little, no one was there to hear it. She’d put the phone she’d bought him with his money to good use. As a matter of fact, she’d kill two birds with one stone. He most likely had tried to remember her phone number after seeing it for the first time across his screen thirty minutes ago, since she’d left his room. Over all, getting him a phone had been the next best idea since sliced bread except for when she received what could very likely be the hundredth text from him.

 

_Just jump through. But, be careful, Cat. You could get a little wet._

_Seriously, Wayne?_

When he sent her a little smiley face in return, followed by a black cat, she vowed to make him pay for it someday.

 

Only for a minute, until she looked at the emojis again. She snickered. Bruce Wayne, the Bat, sending her smiley faces and cats. Who knew he had a sense of humor?

 

She tucked her phone in the waterproof pack on her back, then pointed the grappling gun and shot it straight into the rock he’d told her to. Once she was satisfied that it would hold her, she adjusted the rope around her waist, and took a very literal, large leap of faith.

 

Swinging the waterfall was the rush she expected it to be. She landed on her feet, cold, but legs steady. She uncurled herself from her landing position, shaking herself free of water and peeling wet strands of hair from her face. She rued the fact that she hadn’t pulled her hair back into a ponytail in the first place.

 

Glancing above and around and at the series of arches sweeping the expansive cave, her eyes widened. Earthy scents and sights stirred and delighted Selina's most secretive thoughts and desires. To be in his cave, to be given another chance to make things up to him, to see what sculpted him? She didn't know what to do with herself. Frankly, maybe it was a good thing Bruce wasn't there to see her ridiculous smile and wide eyes or hear her laugh like a little girl who’d just been giving cotton candy.

 

She would take this—being here in this very cave—over stealing any day.

 

Her smile widened as she took in the shadowed nooks and crannies, heard each drop of water beating against the rocks, and saw every sweep of bat wings as she disturbed their habitat. She watched the platforms rise in giddy amusement, imagining him here with her.

 

It was sobering, when it hit her. He should be here with her. Life was unfair, and uncommonly unfair to Bruce Wayne. She moved swiftly over the damp floor, heels racing just like her thoughts as she made her way to several hidden compartments. Bruce had explained she’d find everything there that she needed in order to fix the Bat Signal. As she took inventory, Bruce's preparedness was nothing short of astonishing and impeccable.

 

It would take her two nights to fix the signal, since she didn't have a proper vehicle to efficiently transport what she needed. She’d give Gordon the message to meet her soon, but not until after she was done, or nearly.

 

"What do you think he'll do?" Selina asked Bruce the next morning.

 

"Take it in stride. I hope." Bruce stopped, mouth widening into an unprecedented yawn.

 

Eager to begin their usual routine and finally tell him what she thought of the cave, Selina had asked Dr. Thompkins to awaken Bruce early in the morning and fill him in. She’d returned to the clinic, Bruce’s eyes lighting up when she walked through the door, a happiness on his face that she was sure hadn’t been there for a long time.

 

"I'm not sure this is the right thing to do.” He frowned. “It's not like he can raise the signal."

 

True, it would tip the public off that Batman—or someone close to him—was alive. "Not unless you train someone to take your place,” she pointed out.

 

"Train someone?" Bruce repeated softly, furrowing his brow in that new, familiar way of his.

 

She watched him closely, with her usual concern that depression was finally settling in. Bruce may have been the Bat, but he was a man. Leslie, too, had expressed her concern, and between the two of them, they were vigi

 

He still hadn’t recalled all that Nurse Beth had done to him, and she worried as he remembered small details, that someday, recalling those horrors would push him into a state of mind from which he wouldn’t be able to free himself.

 

Andrew, whoever he was, had been right. Bruce had PTSD, not that he would admit it to himself.

 

He pushed himself out of his wheelchair before Selina could stop him, using his cane as he walked over to the window.

 

"I have a bag ready for John Blake,” he said after a moment.

 

"You have a bag ready for that detective? What do you mean?"

 

Bruce's expression grew pained. "I don't know, Selina. The thought came out of nowhere. I don't know what it means or where this bag is...But, if I was going to train anyone to take up the mantle, Blake would be the one I'd choose.” He turned his neck to stare at her. “That much I do know."

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, the keen of his body towards the wall as leaned on his cane telling. She grasped his arm, his muscle moving under her touch. The strength coursing beneath her fingers didn’t fool her. He was strong, even now, but his body needed time.

 

"Bruce, we don’t have to discuss this right now.”

 

"I'm fine. Just give me a minute."

 

She started to protest. He held up his hand. "Please,” he said.

 

Selina hovered beside him, but eventually gave in to his request. The concentration on his face fascinated her. He looked more at peace than she'd seen him for weeks.

 

Bruce took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and gave her a faint but satisfied grin. "I have a bag in the compartment next to the one that holds the spare signal, a bag that I always keep as a precaution. Maybe there's another bag stored there. Bring them both. Then I'll decide what to do from there."

 

She visited his cave the second time, opening the compartment next to the one she had discovered yesterday.

 

She smiled upon seeing the contents. He’d remembered correctly.

 

One bag contained clothing, passports, cash, keys, and a few pieces of nondescript equipment. She left all of the items alone, zipping it back up. The other bag contained a hook and rope like she had used, the coordinates for the cave, and an attached label with an enclosed name.

 

She arched an eyebrow. "Robin Blake?"

 

Robin Blake? The guy’s legal name was Robin? She texted Bruce, then found herself as intrigued by every nook and cranny of the cave as she was taken by all the facets of Bruce Wayne.

 

An hour later, when she was still inspecting every inch of the cave, Bruce finally replied with a text.

 

_Sorry it took me so long. Leslie had to explain to me why I was receiving texts from a beautiful thief who was loitering in my cave. Now I'm up to speed. Robin's a good, classic steal-from-the-rich-to-help-the-poor kind of name. You should like that. Give the guy a break, Miss Kyle._

 

Selina relaxed in Bruce's chair, watched the cool blanket of water shimmer its way down over the cave entrance, and smiled as she typed her reply. _For you, Mr. Wayne, I’ll jump through a waterfall._

 

——-

 

The man standing with his arms crossed in the middle of Gordon’s office door made no effort to hide his amusement. “You’re still here?”

 

Gordon took a deliberate sip of his coffee. “I am.”

 

“Because you’re scared.”

 

Gordon didn’t know how Andrew could read him so well. It wasn’t like he was the Bat. But, then again, he had grown up with his father. Perhaps he’d told Andrew more about Gordon than he’d first thought. “Of?”

 

“What they want of you. Your ex-wife, in particular.”

 

“What’s that boss?” Bullock, who had been stuck his head inside. “Your ex-wife wants you back?”

 

“Maybe,” Andrew answered for him.

 

“Talk about a turn-around,” Bullock said, grinning. 

 

Gordon dropped his head into his hands, groaning. “She doesn’t want me back. She wants to visit.”

 

Bullock gave a low whistle. “If you weren’t already divorced, I’d say to watch ou—”

 

“You don’t need to say anything at all,” Gordon muttered.

 

“Sorry,” Bullock said.

 

“Don’t you have something better to do,” Gordon said to him.

 

“She hated him, didn’t she?”

 

Gordon eased his head out of his hands to stare, hard, at Andrew. “I think you’re out of line.”

 

“Speaking as one professional to another, you know I’m not. Working with the Bat took you away from your family. And now that he’s out of the picture—dead, in fact—she thinks she can try again.”

 

Gordon stood and pointed at the door. “Out.”

 

Andrew stiffened. “I don’t work for you.”

 

“Oh, I think you do.”

 

The young man’s eyes flashed. “I work for Gotham, and Gotham alone. Always have, and always will.”

 

If Gordon didn’t know better, Andrew sounded proud of the fact. And, maybe, a bit obsessed.

 

He sighed. They needed people to be obsessed with Gotham to get her back on her feet. And although Maverick was one example of a young man stepping up to the plate—and John Blake, who Gordon still wasn’t convinced ever stopped being a detective—Andrew had a few years of experience on them —and skill. “Then leave out of respect for the friendship I had with your father.”

 

Andrew blinked, then nodded. “Okay,” he said turning away.

 

Leaving, with pent-up hurt in his eyes, he looked like his father had at his age.

 

Gordon’s chest pricked with guilt. He missed those good old days, when he had as much hope and confidence for the future as Valley had, all those years ago. “Andrew, wait.”

 

Andrew paused, one hand on the doorway to steady himself. “Commissioner.”

 

“Thank you,” he said softly.

 

The young man looked up in surprise. “For what?”

 

“For what you did for that man.” Gordon cleared his throat. “Thomas.”

 

Andrew glanced sideways at Bullock first, who’d tuned them out already and was checking a text on his phone. Since Beth had called Wayne “Bruce” in front of Andrew, Gordon was sure that young man was aware Thomas was, indeed, the presumed dead ex-billionaire Bruce Wayne. But the young man hadn’t said a word indicating he actually knew. And he probably wouldn’t.

 

Gordon had saved Valley’s life years ago, giving Andrew a father for another two decades. He was all but certain the boy would no more jeopardize their camaraderie by letting the secret of Wayne out of the bag than shoot himself in the foot.

 

Shrugging, Andrew looked cool and casual once more. “Sure. It wasn’t any trouble. I enjoyed the challenge. Plus, I got to talk to my sister, and I hadn’t done that in months.”

 

He had to agree. Andrew’s natural connection to Megan, his sister, had been an easy cover.

 

Gordon’s phone buzzed, perfect timing for an escape.

 

For when Gordon glanced back up after checking who was calling him, his daughter, in fact, the doorway was empty.

 

Jean Paul had vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please, please review?! BTW, Supes (or, at least Clark Kent) will be making his appearance shortly. Also, yes, Andrew is my take/mash-up of an OC and Jean-Paul Valley (Jr.). :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Superman cross-over begins now. Waaaayyyy sooner than in the original posting of this story. :)

 

Selina glided through the door like an angel with glorious purpose, her appearance intoxicating. Bruce, freshly showered, and now craving wine as well as her company, drank it in. He didn’t indulge in alcohol, but the mind-reeling memory issues had convinced him a glass of fine wine was an appropriate way to deal with his new lot in life. Almost. Until she walked in.

 

A faint sheen of water coated her suit and endearing spots of mud had gathered below her knees. She'd obviously come directly from the cave— _his_ territory—although now she wore clean, low heeled boots and a short, leather jacket, both of which tempered the wild look in her eyes, no trace of her excursion. He swore he could still smell the damp rock and earth as she sauntered towards him, unaware of the affect her damp, curling-on-the-ends hair and black-clad body had on him.

 

He swallowed uncomfortably, contemplating the limits of his current physical and mental condition. He'd give anything— _anything_ —to proceed how he wanted with the woman who, according to Leslie, had made all the difference in his recovery since Batman died.

 

Instead, he sat entranced, watching as she hefted two bags onto his bed with impressive ease. He paid no heed to the bags. Selina’s flushed, vibrant appearance, which he was certain was caused by his cave—how could she _not_ get a high from that—offered Bruce much more than the contents of the bags did.

 

She reminded him of life—and himself, the stirring deep in his chest that, after years of suppression, he’d forgotten he could feel.

 

He stared unapologetically, eyes sweeping her entire tightly clothed physique, from the curve of her toned legs, to her perfectly rounded hips, and then to the sultry lips he'd have to kiss to get his head on straight. Her lips twisted into an amused smile as she realized his blatant attraction and where his eyes—and imagination—had traveled.

 

"Cat got your tongue, Mr. Wayne?"

 

"Quite." He cleared his throat. "Miss Kyle."

 

"We really are past formalities,” she admitted, sitting on the edge of his bed, only inches away.

 

The thrumming picked up in his chest. "How...how far past?"

 

"Friends..."

 

But Selina's eyes bespoke more.

 

He shook his head. "I remember more.”

 

“We did kiss the other day.”

 

"My loss, then, unless you want to see if I remember this one." He startled them both as he walked over to her, cane in hand, and slipped an arm around her waist. His mouth covered hers in wild abandon, which she freely matched.

 

She was the first to pull away, breathless and achingly beautiful.

 

He reached for her again, but she averted the embrace, stepping back.

 

As she retreated, Bruce stood at a loss.

 

"As much as I'd like to continue along these lines, we have work to do, Bruce."

 

He wanted to counter her suggestion but her voice washed over him, soothing his aggression.

 

But it was her eyes, searing him with bright yearning, that gave her away. 

 

Satisfied that he'd made an impression she clearly appreciated, he leaned on the cane with both hands, a smug smile playing on his lips.

 

"You really shouldn't had done that," she tsked. "Now I'll feel guilty."

 

"Don't feel guilty. I don't."

 

"One of us should and being that you're the one who won't even remember that means me."

 

"So you're the responsible one in our relationship?" The concept thrilled him. "I didn't expect that."

 

"There is no relationship."

 

"Why not? I may be a man hindered in mind, but not of heart. There _is_ something going on between us."

 

"You. That's why...Bruce,” she said, but her eyes betrayed her.

 

“That’s...vague of you.”

 

She narrowed her gaze on him. “The last memory you have of me. What is it?"

 

He frowned, the question irritating him. "That's not fair."

 

She snorted. "Since when do I play fair?’

 

“Okay,” he said, meeting her fierce gaze head-on. “You took me to Bane like I’d asked.” And he’d forgiven her. "But this—you being here—it proves I was right."

 

"No. It doesn't. Your answer is to my question is why we shouldn't be in any relationship."

 

"So, does this mean you're only here out of misplaced guilt?"

 

She grew quiet.

 

His heart skipped a beat. “Oh. I see. Well, I won't make you stay. That's not fair to either of us."

 

She stared at him. “Don’t overreact.”

 

“I’m not,” he said tightly.

 

“You are,” she pointed out. “All I said—”

 

“Was nothing.”

 

“Bruce, maybe it’s because I don't want to leave," she said exasperatedly. "Maybe the timing isn’t right. Maybe this is too soon for either of us. Maybe we really are suckers for wanting to save each other. But I can't leave you, Bruce, not until your memory’s improved.”

 

He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "It is guilt, then."

 

She unzipped one of the bags, sighing heavily. "No. Let’s not talk about this right now. I only have a few hours before I have to leave and take care of things for you."

 

He stared at her hands busy with the bag, hating himself for even beginning their day the way he had. He felt miserable. As soon as she waltzed into the room, he'd lost his mind. Completely, if he were honest with himself. And if she carried misplaced guilt over what Bane had done to him and Bruce was limited by his mind as he was, what hope did he have that she stayed here for him and him alone?

 

"Oh no," she said. "Please don't brood, Mr. Wayne. It’s not fun to watch.”

 

"I never tried being a bundle of laughter,” he muttered. He turned away, willing his internal war to stop. "So, the cave, huh? What did you think?"

 

"Impressive," she murmured, her husky tone pulling him out of his self-pity. "But you should've been there with me."

 

"No.” Bruce sat down, weary. He was strong enough to walk a million miles for this woman—in his mind. “I don't think it would be the best thing for me to go back there right now, even if I could.”

 

"You really are going to ask Blake to replace you."

 

"It seems that's what I wanted to do, Selina." He motioned to his notes on his table. "I can train him.”

 

"Train him?" Selina’s jaw clenched.

 

"Yes, train him."

 

"Eventually, you mean,” she posed. “Not now."

 

"You're not happy about the idea." Deep down, he knew she was right. He wasn't in any condition to train anyone. It took a mental strength he didn't have, obviously, and the physical fitness he'd have to regain. Add in the surgeries he needed on his knees—and his back—with weeks and weeks of recuperation and therapy traditional training was a long, long way off.

 

Selina sent him a dark look and began to pace. She wasn’t usually this high strung. It unnerved him.

 

He wished he could start the day over with both feet firmly planted on the ground, her visit to the cave one of the million memories he’d forgotten.

 

"I don't care who you choose to fight crime in your city in your place,” she said, her voice carrying through the room. “I care that you're one hit short to the head to becoming a vegetable or dying, Bruce. And I care that you don't seem to understand that."

 

"I do understand that, Miss Kyle."

 

She stopped and stared at him in challenge, his eyes struck by the strong set of her jaw, her even stronger spirit. It was evident as soon as she’d begun talking that she did care for him. Maybe enough to stay of her own accord.

 

“Do you, really?" she demanded.

 

He glanced down at the bag Selina had set beside him, hand sweeping over the top of it. He was unwilling to part with the idea. Gotham needed a new hero—she always would—and he’d gladly give his cave to a man who was eager to do good and smart enough to learn how to use the skills Bruce was willing to teach him.

 

“One hit to the head, Bruce,” she warned.

 

"I won't get hit in the head."

 

"You can't prevent something like that. Even in training you could be hit." Selina walked towards him. "It’s not like you can mail it to him with your return address. Bruce Wayne is dead."

 

The obvious stung only a little this time. "Maybe you could drop it off at his apartment for me."

 

"I will jump through a waterfall for you, but I draw the line at making a house call to the kid who arrested me," Selina huffed.

 

"You will have to deliver it somewhere for me, you know. Is that going to be okay with you?”

 

She rolled her eyes. "Wayne. Please. I'd go through the front door of Wayne Enterprises in broad daylight if it meant sorting this out."

 

_Wayne Enterprises._

 

"Didn't you write in my notes that they’ll be reading the will and allocating what's left of my estate soon? I can't imagine that after all that has happened they’ve begun the process."

 

Selina glowered at him, as it were him who had been throwing curveballs all this time.

 

"You're the one who gave me the idea, Miss Kyle." Bruce brushed her off casually. "The broad daylight thing could work. You can handle that. The only way for this to go through the appropriate people and then to Blake is if you first take it directly to Fox."

 

Her frown eased. "Fox. I'd like to see him again."

 

"Of course, this means my secret is out to one more person, but it's not like Fox wasn't going to figure it out eventually. Since it's likely I had used autopilot, he'd know the instant he checked the software patch."

 

In fact, he was counting on Fox to remember that.

 

"I'm sorry you can't remember, Bruce."

 

Touched by her sincere apology, Bruce smiled. "Don't be. I’ve come to realize that things could be a lot worse."

 

"''d say this was 'a lot worse' in my book," Selina muttered.

 

He fell silent, wondering what had really been the thing to set her on edge, and fingered the name tag attached to one of the bags. _Robin Blake._ Training Blake would be a challenge, an impossible one if he looked at it from a logical standpoint. Realistically, he couldn't do it alone.

 

Selina was right.

 

Bruce glanced up at her, who had an odd expression on her face.

 

"If you did fix the autopilot,” she said haltingly, “you'd know it would show up on the software patch, Bruce. That means you already knew Fox would find out. You wanted him to discover for himself. And Blake."

 

"That was a little mean," he decided about himself.

 

His own stubborn decisions said more about his need for control than his desire to ease the pain of people he loved.

 

Yet, somehow, Alfred, and Lucius—they’d both accepted him, lapses in character included.

 

But he didn’t need her to explain things to him again. He'd strung the logic together on his own, before she came through the door. Still, he had no idea what to do with all of this new information. They were facts—and only facts. Nothing of the heart, not that he ever managed well with feelings like normal people.

 

"No," she said. "Don't think of it like that. You had to stay buried. Maybe...maybe you wanted a little time to yourself. You deserve it."

 

Maybe he wanted a lot of time to himself. What Selina explained made sense.

 

"Gordon will find out tonight, whether or not it was in my plans initially. But, what about Alfred, Miss Kyle?" Two of the people he cared about most. And the third —Miss Kyle?

 

"That is something I can't answer for you." Selina observed him warily from the foot of the bed. "Do you want Alfred to know you're alive?"

 

He did, but the pain he could cause Alfred in his recuperating state wasn't worth the risk. He hoped he was making a better decision unlike those he’d made as a selfish reclusive. "No, not now, not when I'm like this. We parted badly."

 

"He won’t care once he knows you’re alive, Bruce.”

 

"It hurts me to keep this a secret, but I don't want him to feel guilty for what happened to me. He’s carrying enough guilt, already."

 

“And you know that...how?”

 

“I just do.” He forced himself to stop there. He had a feeling saying anything else about the situation with Alfred would make him—or both of them—feel even worse. "I also don't want him to feel burdened by me or obligated to be here in any way. I've put him through so much over the years and this could be too much. He can't know. Not yet."

 

"Okay."

 

Selina's quiet, acquiescent reply settled his uneasiness.

 

Now he was ready to work. He straightened, holding his cane tightly in his hand. “Let’s get started.”

—————-

 

Bruce's memory flourished at an astonishing rate as they planned to unveil the bat signal and meet with Gordon, as well as presenting the bag to Fox.

 

Selina held her breath. She didn’t know quite how to proceed when pieces of Bruce's short-term memory stretched to yet another hour and then by two, and finally three.

 

That was the peak, and as Bruce fell distant and vague, withdrawing from her questions, not completely comprehending her explanations, and hardly knowing she was even in the room with him by early afternoon, she realized they’d taken one step forward only to take two steps back.

 

Bruce dug his fingers into his skull. He’d refused painkillers for fear of becoming addicted, but she’d convinced him to take a mild dose.

 

"I'll try to find Leslie." She carded a hand through his hair.

 

"Who? What?"

 

"Your doctor."

 

"Oh. _Stay_."

 

Her heart clenched hearing his agonizing whisper. Ever since he kissed her that morning, Selina had put him at arm’s length. She’d hoped he’d focus on more important tasks at hand, but it hurt to shut down his hope that they were in a more definitive relationship. But it wasn’t like she had a choice.

 

Her plan had worked, making the 'cold-shoulder' facade worth every painful minute.

 

She pulled away but Bruce's strained, incoherent stay made her pause. "I'm not leaving the room right now,” she assured him. “I need to get my phone. That's all."

 

He mumbled something to her, his words indecipherable and muffled as he pressed his face partway into his pillow.

 

"Bruce, did you need something?"

 

He dropped his hands from his skull and lifted his head barely off the pillow. "Fresh air"

 

"What?" The man couldn't be serious. "I don't care if you are Batman, you're not up to doing that."

 

" _Please_ ," he replied.

 

"Now?” That was crazy.

 

He pushed himself up but it was hardly enough to convince her. "I'll...work through it. The meds,” he rasped, “will help."

 

"Have you ever thought it might be best to stick around here since you can't even open your eyes, handsome?"

 

"Tired... of being...a...shut-in." He winced, stepping towards his chair, aided only by his cane. "Remember. No day off."

 

"I had no idea when I signed up for this that you'd be so stubborn, Mr. Wayne."

 

"I'm stronger...than I look."

 

"I know you are."

 

He was stronger than he looked but that didn't make it any easier for him as he sat down. She tucked a blanket under her arms before they began their quiet journey through the clinic's subdued hallways. The nearly silent clinic was a blessing, really. Bruce’s eyes were closed, but when Selina pointed the chair towards the patio, he jerked himself awake. She turned the doorknob, ready to breathe in the fresh air he'd requested, when she was met with resistance.

 

Bruce's arm stretched out and, with a firm hand, pressed against the door.

 

"No," he said.

 

Selina released the knob. "It's not so cold today. In fact, it smells like spring out there. You picked the perfect day to ask—"

 

"No."

 

"Bruce? This was your idea, remember?"

 

" _No_. She...took me... _here_." His face seemed to break before her eyes.

 

Her stomach recoiled. "You remember?”

 

"Don't say her name,” he pleaded. “Don't take me out there...please."

 

She froze. What was it that Andrew had said to her before leaving the clinic that one day?

 

_He has PTSD, Cat. I can call you Cat, can’t it? Now that I’ve seen Bruce Wayne, unhinged, I feel like Miss Asher’s too formal._

_Andrew, I have better things to do than listen to you ramble._

_Sure! He won’t admit, but he has it. It creeps up on him—and he doesn’t know how to handle it. Worse, I don’t think he wants to. You know, because if he ignores it, it doesn’t exist. At least, that’s what he’s telling himself._

 

She stood for a moment, barely breathing, not wanting to believe he was frightened by something he could hardly remember. "I won't,” she promised.

 

Bruce withdrew his arm and slumped in his chair, his head bending under the weight of the stress. He kneaded his forehead, a common gesture that broke her heart. Instincts had told her that this would be too much but she’d succumbed to his insistence for a change of pace. And now...she couldn't imagine what thoughts were racing through Bruce's head. She had to tell Leslie. She’d know how to proceed.

 

For now, she'd steer Bruce onto a different course. Distract him. Tell him the truth.

 

"About us," she began.

 

"Mmm?" He perked up, if one could call the lilt to his mumbling "perky."

 

"We're..."

 

"We're what?"

 

"I lied before. About our relationship. There is something."

 

"I know. Your eyes—they gave you away."

 

How could the man sound so smug? He'd read her well, yes. Maybe she should give him the credit he deserved.

 

"Bruce, there is something between us, but we haven't defined it."

 

When silence was his reply, she gripped the handles of his chair.

 

But then a sweet voice beside her eased the tension across her shoulders.

 

"Mommy! It’s him!"

 

____

 

Selina's confession renewed his determination, and he worked through the onslaught of jumbled, uncertain pieces of his past few weeks here with a new resolve.

 

What that nurse had done was immaterial. He couldn't remember, anyway. What he could recall—her face and the feelings she'd elicited from him—hurt him most. Those feelings were some of his worst nightmares. Despair. Hopelessness. Forgetfulness. Pain. They—and the patio, in particular—were descriptions and places of his worst nightmare. And Selina's admittance, although reluctant, had started to strip away his newfound terror.

 

Until now, when his small world was interrupted.

 

"You have visitors, Alex," Selina said. "Annette and her daughter, Cora."

 

He suppressed a sigh. He'd have to fake being well, and his name. Apparently, he was Alex this time, Thomas now long gone.

 

Annette’s gaze flipped back and forth between them. "This must be a bad time.”

 

He frowned, running through his broken memories until he found it. The woman’s name. Annette.

 

"Is everything okay?" Annette asked Selina.

 

"We had a date outside" Selina's hand squeezed his shoulder.

 

Annette’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

 

Selina smiled sweetly.

 

“We came over at a bad time,” Annette said, backpedaling.

 

He was anxious to go back to his room, but the child sniffled, breaking the moment.

 

And breaking the bonds holding his memories of Beth.

 

He dug into his head, fighting what that woman made him feel, when the little girl sniffled again.

 

He looked at the child, bleary-eyed.

 

"It's great timing,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve been stuck inside all this time.”

 

Selina looked at him worriedly, but it hardly deterred him. The hopelessness and fear he was feeling waned. The migraine wasn't so bad after all, as long as he had a goal. He could handle talking with the girl.

 

“You’re sure?” Selina asked.

 

He wasn’t but training and self-discipline gave him the balance he needed. “Yes.”

 

“We’d hate to impose,” Annette said, looking uneasy.

 

“It’s fine.” Bruce turned still-pounding head to the girl. "Hi, there."

 

His greeting put everyone at ease and, before he knew it, Bruce found himself playing Candyland with a three-year-old in the rec room.

 

Annette and Selina watched the game from another table. Bruce didn't mind. He and the little girl got along fine. Everytime she smiled at him, it was for him only, like they were sharing a secret. Every time they shared a laugh, some of his headache disappeared.

 

"I need to make a quick phone call to postpone an appointment," Selina said after some time.

 

“What appointment?”

 

"It's not important. I'll explain later, alright?" she said. "Annette will stay here with you until I come back?"

 

"Sure," Bruce said lightly as he reached for a card in the pile. The end was near. He could taste the victory. Until he read the card. Bruce frowned at Cora. "You, young lady, were not supposed to win like this."

 

Cora cupped her hands to her mouth. As his scowl depend, her eyes sparkled with laughter.

Selina squeezed his shoulder. “Handsome, you can't always be the best. Don't be a sore loser."

 

Bruce’s mouth twitched. “Ouch. No one’s ever accused me of that before”

 

Before he turned his attention back to Cora, he caught sight of a man standing a few feet away. He smiled faded before he could stop himself. Fredericks.

The older man was considerably thinner. Age lined his face, more so now than when he’d last seen him at Wayne Enterprise, but his expression struck Bruce more than anything.

 

This...was it. The moment of truth.

 

"So this is where you two go for a good time." Fredericks stood in curious study of Bruce and the game he'd been playing with his granddaughter. "I assume you are the patient who made sure Cora was safe the other day?"

 

"Yes, sir." Bruce had already attached a light rasp to his voice, altering it from Wayne’s. He cleared his throat. "Excuse me."

 

"I'm Douglas Fredericks."

 

Bruce shook the man's hand, careful to shake it the way Bruce Wayne would never shake someone's hand. Firmly. Purposefully. With utmost respect. "I'm Alex. Your granddaughter is charming."

 

Fredericks’ gaze softened. "Cora is a special child. She has a way about her."

 

"Cora?" Bruce frowned.

 

"Don't you ‘member my name?" The little girl widened her eyes.

 

Bruce restrained a groan.

 

"Yes. Of course.” But his thoughts raced as he tried to find a way to hide his mistake. He smiled brightly at Cora. "Eloise."

 

"No," she giggled.

 

"Maybe...it's Matilda? Gwenyth?"

 

"No," she said with a three-year-old's dramatic impatience. "Mommy, tell him my name."

 

"Wait," Bruce interjected. "I know what it is."

 

Cora leaned forward and gazing at him as if he’d hung the moon for her. He paused, enjoying the growing anticipation on the child's face. This was a ridiculous amount of fun, and he was certain he wanted to play Candyland again with her.

 

"Cora, Princess of Candy Land," Bruce announced with a grand gesture, and Cora begged to play another round.

 

Finding that his headache had all but disappeared, Bruce easily agreed. He and Cora shared their made-up tales of kings and queens and candy and frogs as they landed on spaces and flipped over colorful cards. Bruce didn’t look over at Fredericks more than what would be considered polite. When Selina returned, he could hardly tear himself away from the game to send her a reassuring smile. She was tense. It wasn’t hard to figure out why.

 

But Fredericks gave no indication he recognized Bruce. Not that he should. Nothing was the same about him. He had longer, much darker hair, a thinner face, a beaten body, a scraggly goatee, a rasping voice—not even the way he’d showered attention on a child was the same.

 

The game reached its end when his body could no longer handle sitting like he had been for so long. It cruelly reminded him of who he had become—an amnesiac cripple with a back burdened by chronic pain.

 

Everything faded and all was pain and confusing and dark until Selina's hands gently guided him to sit back in his chair.

 

But he could hardly bear to sit in it. His muscles had grown taut, his hands useless against the misery at his forehead. She brushed his hair back into a ponytail, airing his warning neck. She rubbed his shoulders. It felt nice, wonderful, even, and he fell into her touch.

 

"Hey," she whispered in his ear. "Stay with me. Remember what I told you? About us?"

 

"Mmhmm."

 

"Good. Think on that. We're going back to your room," she said kindly in his ear, as if she were the professional, compassionate nurse, and not the thief he desired.

 

He couldn’t remember where they were now, or why they'd come, or why they were going back to his room in the first place. But Fredericks had showed keen interest in the disguised Bruce, which meant trouble. And the adorable child had given him a tiny hug, which left him happy.

 

He didn’t answer, a familiar haze permeating his thoughts.

 

"I’m sorry, Bruce.” Fredericks said gravely. "Your father suffered horrific migraines early on in his marriage to your mother, Martha. He found the proper treatment, with help from your aunt, but it took some time."

 

Fredericks, who now knew Bruce Wayne was alive.

 

___

 

Clark looked in the storefront window, pretending to fix his hair. No, he was not focused on the reflection of Lois, who approached him from behind with a smirk on her face.

 

“So this is where you meet all your girlfriends?” she said, nodding to the two young women giggling at Clark from the other side.

 

Or, rather, the hair that kept sticking straight up like he’d just rolled out of bed.

 

It wasn’t that far away from the truth.

 

He shrugged, and with one sweep of his hand, slicked back his hair the proper way. “I couldn’t sleep.”

 

“You don’t sleep,” she said, eyes narrowing. “And you missed a spot.”

 

He adjusted his tie, added an awkward wave and smile to the ladies and turned to face Lois. “You do have time for coffee, don’t you?”

 

Lois hooked his arm and steered them to the door. “If you pay.”

 

He snorted. “You make more than I do.”

 

“But you’re so... _heroic_.”

 

And there it was. His missed the door handle, then quickly recovered, swinging it wide open for her.

 

“You think I wouldn’t know?” she hissed in his ear, not unkindly, as she walked past him into the cafe. “I wouldn’t see you a thousand feet in the air?”

 

“I didn’t know…You’ve been busy, and I…” He stopped. It was a poor excuse. But he used it, anyway. “It’s been three days.”

 

She lifted her chin and stalked to the counter, ordered for them both, and even added sugar to his coffee.

 

He hated sugar.

 

He drank it in two gulps, anyway. He set his mug down, stared back at her.

 

“You feel better now, Smallville?”

 

“More coffee.”

 

She nodded. “Sure.”

 

That she got up to get it for him, quietly, without saracasm…

 

...said. It. All.

 

He stared at the empty place she left for the entire four minutes and thirty three seconds she was gone, fighting to control his emotions. The failure, incompetence and fear that he will never be able to do enough for this world to keep it from happening again.

 

The coffee appeared in his hand. It was hot. Of course, it didn’t hurt him, and this time, it was black.

 

_Black._

 

She’d also gotten herself a smoothie, which she chose to sip instead of her coffee. “Your mother?”

 

He had to smile. The first real smile, he thought, that he’d had in months. “Yes. She made it from her own pattern. Took several tries.”

 

“That’s so sweet,” Lois said, almost dreamily.

 

He leaned forward, telling her sternly, “I have it on right now.”

 

It elicited a completely different reaction from her. She blinked, licked her lips, tilted her head, and looked at the loosened tie at his neck. “Oh? May I, um, see...it?”

 

With a nonchalant twist of his head, and a flick of his finger, he popped off the top two buttons of his shirt. They scattered somewhere across the room, distracting the two girls who still couldn’t keep their eyes off him.

 

Lois noisily sipped her smoothie, looking at that narrow sliver of blue and red at his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you catch the Loki reference? :) Also, if you see typos, I apologize. I’m editing, of course, but not with a fine-toothed comb. ;)
> 
> Reviews most welcome...I’d love to hear from you!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note about the chapter: minor changes from the original plus one new scene.

Selina didn't know what angle Fredericks would take, but she'd be wasting her breath if she tried to deny his claim. Underneath his amiability was a shrewdness, the reason, no doubt, that he’d been a fixture on the Wayne Enterprise board for decades. Besides, Bruce had already cracked his eyes open in acknowledgment of Fredericks.

 

"Whatever it is that you are thinking," she said on behalf of Bruce, "this man deserves silence until you've heard what it is he has to say."

 

"It's okay," Bruce murmured, lifting hooded eyes. His expressed pleaded with her to stop.

 

She refused to back down. "It's not, no you know it."

 

Bruce sighed. "We'll work through it.” He added quietly, "Trust me, please?"

 

She did trust him. She just didn’t trust anyone else when it came to all things Bruce Wayne.

 

"I'm…shocked, my boy,” Fredericks started to say.

 

“I’m sorry it’s such a shock,” Bruce said, sounding like a Boy Scout with the sincerity and apology oozing from his voice.

 

“We’d heard rumors that you’d been taken in by Bane's men." Fredericks’ mouth twisted into a grimace. “Like I had been.”

 

"I was," Bruce began. He stopped, and Selina realized he'd wouldn’t make a slip like calling her “Lina,” if he’d been more lucid.

 

She gripped the arms of the wheelchair and pushed Bruce forward, away from their prying eyes. "Mr. Fredericks, I assume you’ll keep this news to yourself until we can speak again?"

 

"Dad, you really think he’s..." Annette looked at them both in disbelief. "Did you look at him? He's not Mr. Wayne. He can’t be. He’s ill. He played with Cora. Dad, Mr. Wayne...is...he's...gone."

 

"It's him, Annie,” Fredericks said, squeezing her shoulder. “I admit, I'm a little confused as to why Bruce, even in convalescence, would take the time to play with a child, let alone with such ease and care. I've never known him to act like that, and for a moment, I thought I was wrong. But the past months have been hard on all of us, dear. We've...all had to make changes."

 

And some more than most.

 

"I’m taking him back to his room for treatment,” Selina said, throwing them both a harsh look. “We’ll continue this discussion later, along with Dr. Thompkins and Commissioner Gordon, who are both well aware of these circumstances.

 

“All right,” Fredericks said with a slow nod.

 

"But, first, for the sake of my patient, I need your word that you will remain quiet about this. All of it."

 

____________

 

 

"I can't fake that part anymore, Selina," Bruce said later on.

 

Medication had dulled his pain and now, with some lucidity, he could think what Fredericks’ discovery meant for his future at the clinic—and in Gotham.

 

Against both Leslie's and Selina's wishes, he walked the length of his room, cane in hand, nervous energy propelling him from one end to the other. "I don't have it in me to pretend to be Wayne anymore.”

 

Leslie looked at him with compassion. "You don't have to be the self-centered playboy anymore. Brain trauma can cause personality changes. It's the perfect cover."

 

He stopped at the window, where Selina was sitting. “And how do we convince them not to say anything?"

 

"Gordon." Selina slipped off the window ledge and took his hand. "He can tell them it's for your protection. Your safety. They'll have to comply if they believe the police is involved.”

 

Leslie beamed at him. "I think it will be wonderful for someone on the board to see who you truly are."

 

Bruce turned the idea over in his mind—being himself—and had to admit the freedom it would give him was enticing.

 

"They are not going to see who I _truly_ am," he complained instead. He leaned against the wall, tilting his head back as if the ceiling were the stars. "They'll see a broken idiot who took down his parents' company with careless ‘gambling’ and who, by a stroke of luck and a hit to the head, had a change of heart. Why would they even want to remain quiet? It'd be too tempting to break the news."

 

"They’ll keep their mouths sealed,” Selina said. “I did just save Fredericks' life."

 

He frowned, catching on quickly. "You'd use threats? They have a little girl to take care of, Selina."

 

"You know I’d do anything and everything if it meant I can keep them quiet."

 

He shook his head. "Not everything."

 

"Your standards are pretty high for me, Wayne."

 

"They need to be high, but I was told you're adaptable."

 

"I think you're both underestimating Fredericks' integrity, besides the fact that he's been through quite the ordeal himself," Leslie interjected. "I believe he would understand biding your time here. He's been here for weeks."

 

"You're right.” Bruce exhaled slowly. He raked a hand through his hair. "I guess this means I can’t isolate myself from them anymore."

 

"I'd advise against it. They need to see how Bruce Wayne has changed so they can trust you." Leslie agreed. "You'll have to continue to step out. Engage with Cora, at the very least. We'll have to be careful though, if you don't want them to know the extent of your injuries."

 

He didn't. The short term memory problem, his back, his knees...all of it had to be either invisible or minimized, or they’d ask too many questions. "I was in Bane's prison, had a little trouble being a good inmate and received a few hefty beatings.”

 

"That's a start, for now," Leslie agreed.

 

"Annette is a trained nurse," Selina said, frowning. "She'll notice any discrepancy.”

 

"I'll try harder."

 

"Bruce, you're doing everything you can. You're working harder than any patient I've ever had." Leslie sighed. "If she ends up being as observant as her father, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

 

"Then it's time. I should talk to him, even if my explanation will be a bit vague for now." Bruce limped to his chair, leaning heavily on his cane. "Before I'm hit with a migraine again or you have to explain this to me all over."

 

__________

 

The next day, Selina eased herself onto the eastern ledge of the roof and squinted into the night at the streets below. Yesterday, her plans had changed with the onset of Bruce's migraine, his need for "fresh air," and then the discovery by Fredericks. While Bruce had played Candyland with Cora, she'd postponed 'Ms. Catherine Asher's' appointment with Mr. Lucius Fox until the following day. After that, she’d had only thirty minutes to spare this morning. It had barely been sought time to finish the spotlight.

 

Her eyes swept upward, and she fought the urge to walk along the ledge. Better to stay put in the shadows until Gordon arrived. The cityscape flickered like fireflies, looking no worse for wear at this hour. She knew differently. Gotham’s demons came out of night.

 

A text appeared on her phone screen. Her heart sunk as she read the note from Leslie. Bruce's condition had gone from a manageable headache to to an incapacitating migraine. He was now sedated. It was happening all too often, again.

 

Bruce wouldn't admit it, and neither would Selina, at least to his face, but the day overexerted him, causing undo mental strain. However, he’d crafted a believable cover story because he had been under Bane’s thumb and in a prison. His attention to detail had been remarkable, but she should expect no less. The emotion played well for Bruce's so-called change of heart.

 

Still, it had drained whatever mental spark he’d had, and his recurring migraine had come again full throttle. It was a disappointment after all of his headway. Bruce's appointment could not come soon enough. Leslie was encouraged to know that DNA could be behind the majority Bruce's migraines, not necessarily the damage Bane had inflicted. However, Selina was slightly more concerned about his migraines than she was his short term memory loss. The latter was improving, and Leslie's concern had risen for his migraines, as well.

 

Footsteps sounded up the stairway and Selina swiftly left her spot on the ledge to fall into the shadows of another corner. Gordon had arrived earlier than she expected and leaned against part of the rooftop ledge. His hands carried papers, a binder, and coffee, but he ignored them all. He watched the cityscape much like Selina had a moment ago.

 

She delicately cleared her throat.

 

When Gordon turned his head and jerked to attention in his astonishment, she decided it'd been worth the two days' effort to fulfill Bruce's wish.

 

Gordon touched the new bat symbol, his face revealing pure delight. Selina closed her eyes and breathed deeply but her muscles refused to uncoil. The signal surely told him that Bruce wanted Gordon to know that Batman was alive. And Selina hesitated, unwilling to rain on his parade.

 

A split second before Gordon realized she was cloaked behind him in the disappearing shadows of the night, Selina almost backed out. But then he turned, and Selina hadn't the heart to let Bruce down.

 

"Did you do this for him?"

 

"He asked me, yes."

 

"He told me he's alive of his own accord." Gordon tapped the light in his relief. "Alive. Do you know what this means?"

 

"I do. But there's more."

 

Gordon gave Selina a second glance. "He's not completely recovered, is he? It's been only a couple of weeks since I saw him last."

 

"He's improved, but he needs your help. We need your help if we want to continue treating him in the best way."

 

Gordon never wavered. "What do you need me to do?"

 

________

 

Instead of intruding on Bruce's privacy, Gordon opted to stand in the doorway and watch him from a distance. Even asleep with body and mind broken, Wayne waxed some level of intimidation with his new disguise. But maybe it was because he knew how determined this man truly was.

 

The commissioner cracked a saddened smile thinking how definitively agile and ruthless the former Wayne had been compared to this one, who underneath a peaceful rest, struggled to live a normal life. A necessary and successful disguise. Gordon had caught only a faint glimpse of the former billionaire—the one who had bombarded headlines with reckless driving and house burning, showing off clusters of women at his side with playboy finesse.

 

Bruce's face as well as his body, slightly thinner than he'd seen the day they entrapped Nurse Beth, reflected none of the arrogance or other missing pieces that created his necessary playboy image.

 

According to both Miss Kyle and Dr. Thompkins, Bruce never planned to play that part again, embracing retirement. He was finished. Done. Moving on. The physician's explanation that Bruce was one blow to the head from an even graver injury wasn't a complete shock to Gordon. Neither was the fact that Bruce couldn't return to being Batman because of his physical condition.

 

"You can come in, Commissioner," Dr. Thompkins called to him from Wayne's bedside. "He's out like a light and you won't disturb him."

 

"I'll remain here, thank you."

 

"You know he'd want you to come right in," she said. "It makes no difference to him."

 

"I'll wait."

 

"Take as much time as you want," Leslie said quietly, and moved past him to the exit.

 

Gordon took one step into the room, bending under the weight of his own knee and the indecision to approach. He leaned against the wall instead to anchor himself, contemplating what Miss Kyle had said to him the night before.

 

" _What do you need me to do?"_

_It probably wasn't the response Miss Kyle expected. It wasn't what Gordon had expected to fly out of his mouth, either. The truth was painful. How could it be that Batman was human like the rest of them? That the indestructible symbol was as vulnerable as any other man? That he needed their assistance?_

_The words out of his own mouth pulled him out of a cycle of self-pity._

_"Take a few days off in a week or so,” Selina said. “I'll need help when we travel to see a trauma specialist. I can't simultaneously care for Bruce in a safe manner and take care of the details, too."_

_"You?"_

_"Leslie’s hands are tied here. But Bruce doesn't want her to go either. She’s the only one running a safe place for Gotham’s underprivileged. You already know that I've been taking care of him every day for months weeks now. I know what he needs, and he's at ease with me." Miss Kyle lifted her chin, the spark in her eyes also challenging him to say otherwise. "So yes, I'll be the one accompanying him."_

_"I'll make sure it happens," Gordon said. He'd seen strange things, but a kidnapper becoming Batman's proficient primary caretaker ranked pretty high up on the list. "Thank you, Miss Kyle."_

_"Good. Come by around nine. I guarantee he won't be up. His migraines occur at any hour and Leslie has been keeping him heavily sedated at night, the other times he’s in therapy.” She paused. “But at least you'll get to see him. I promise things will seem better after the next visit."_

 

Bruce's hand twitched. Gordon jolted to attention, suddenly ashamed of himself. Hadn't it been Wayne himself who’d visited Gordon in the hospital, going directly to his bedside wearing a ridiculous ski mask?

 

Gordon pushed aside his conflicting emotions, an odd mixture of trepidation, fear, relief, and awkwardness, and did what he should have done the instant he came into the room. He pulled up a chair and, covering Bruce’s hand with his own, extended his friendship in the same way the younger man had done for Gordon more than half a year ago. He squeezed his hand for a second, then let go.

 

Although their paths might not cross as they had before, distance would not define their friendship. Gordon would do whatever he could to help Bruce move past Gotham.

 

_My friend, we are still two._

 

_________

 

Selina yawned, feeling every bit of the sleepless night she’d had. When she stepped inside Bruce’s room, another yawn replaced the good morning she was about to say to the commissioner. Unembarrassed, she blamed Bruce for her newly acquired relaxed habits around his friends. The twelve-to-fourteen hour shifts at the clinic must be getting to her head.

 

"I didn't sleep much either," Gordon said with a chuckle, standing.

 

"At least one of us did." Selina looked at Bruce, who’d needed the rest most.

 

She picked up the black bag on the floor, garnering immediate interest from Gordon.

 

"You're not staying?" he asked.

 

"I have an appointment with Mr. Fox. Leslie will cover for me this morning."

 

"I assume you will inform Mr. Fox of Mister Wayne's resurrection?"

 

"He already how’s Bruce is alive,” she said. At his questioning glance, she continued. “Bruce had to have fixed the autopilot to have survived, even if he doesn't remember doing so.”

 

The commissioner glanced at the black bag again—it _was_ awkward and large and intriguing—but Selina purposefully avoided any talk about it. Who knew what Gordon would think or feel about Bruce offering Blake the chance to take up Batman’s mantle?

 

“There’s been more improvement?” Gordon asked.

"Yes, to an extent.” It had been nothing short of amazing, considering all the hurdles in his way. "There's something else.”

 

“There always is,” Gordon said dryly.

 

“Fredericks saw Bruce and looked a bit too closely. He knows."

 

Gordon muttered a curse under his breath. It was a complication none of them wanted.

 

Fredericks had told Bruce yesterday how he knew—When you played with Cora, your eyes filled with compassion just like your father's did when he spoke to his young patients. You sounded just like him.

 

Gordon sighed. "How did he react? He has to keep this under wraps.”

 

"He agreed to say nothing, believing the police already know.”

 

"I’ll talk to him this morning,” Gordon decided, checking his watch. “In fact, now, Bruce awakens. Has he asked questions as to why...?"

 

"Some.” Selina paused. "Bruce kept it vague, that he’d been in a prison.”

 

Which was the truth.

 

Gordon’s brows shot up. "He was in prison?"

 

Selina gave him a twisted smile. "That’s Bruce’s story to tell. Not mine."

 

"Is it always like this?" Gordon asked.

 

Selina knew exactly to what he referred. The sitting. Waiting. Enduring. Testing. Wondering. All around the clock. All for Bruce.

 

"Yes."

 

Gordon became cool and collected once again. "I'll be here, then."

 

___________

 

Wayne Enterprises had managed to maintain its decadent, rich look despite Bane's recent occupation in the city and the havoc wrought upon its businesses and ageless architecture.

 

Wayne Tower, by all appearances, matched the resilience of its family.

 

Wearing a sleek yet comfortable, black business suit, Selina’s heels clicked across the floor in staccato form. The front doors looked shiny new with paint, the brass sides gleaming as Selina walked through them. Few milled in the lobby, however, and judging by the receptionist's countenance, she had seen better days. The somber mood clashed with Selina’s perceived the building. She grew unsettled, but stood, waiting to be ushered in to see Mr. Fox.

 

She saw Bruce—everywhere. He was beside her, at the front desk, walking along through the corridor, traveling in the elevator. She imagined him flirting with the women, playing up his other mask. She'd never seen him in the middle of that playboy facade. He hadn’t quite lived up to his image that night at the ball with his sardonic smile, his cane in hand.

 

His handprint was upon this company, but the imprint had been distorted and misrepresented. Worse, she’d had a part in that. More than a part. His family’s legacy, practically shattered, because of her.

 

She doubted she’d ever forgive herself.

 

She clutched Blake's bag, allowing the handle to dig into her skin and hoping that it would cut out the guilt. She waited, losing herself in the depths of emotion, until a door finally opened.

 

"Miss Asher." A grinning Mr. Fox appeared, but it took her a full five seconds to react with a polite nod and offer a half-hearted smile in return. "Please, come in."

 

"Thank you." Selina slipped past him. "I appreciate you taking the time to meet me on such short notice."

 

The pleasantries were unnecessary, but this introduction was necessary to her, something to keep her grounded. Something normal.

 

He welcomed her into his office. Selina stood inside the door, unwilling to take a seat when so much weighed on her mind. Mr. Fox eschewed the chair for standing behind desk, his hands pressed on the wood of the countertop as he leaned forward to speak to her.

 

"Miss Asher," he said directly and kindly, traits that no doubt served him well. "Let me just assume that we both know he is alive."

 

She gave a curt nod.

 

"And well?" he prompted.

 

She tightened her lips, unwilling to utter a single word about Bruce's condition. Mr. Fox eyed her silently for a moment, his expression never betraying what he felt about this information.

 

She schooled her features. "Mr. Fox," she cleared her throat. "Bruce wanted to give this to John Blake. He asked me to see if you'd be able to deliver this package."

 

"He has good timing, as always," Mr. Fox replied, taking the bag from her hands. "We are settling his affairs now. Is he able to settle all of his?"

 

"He will." Selina hesitated, having heard Mr. Fox's underlying question—how is Bruce? She’d looked forward to chatting with Mr. Fox without Bruce’s condition looming in the distance. But this...this changed everything. "I've been helping care for him these past few weeks as his short-term memory has suffered. He doesn't remember what happened since the day he saved Gotham. His knees bother him… and his back. His memory is improving a little each day, but he gets these...headaches."

 

It was a mouthful of words she hoped Mr. Fox would not want to analyze. He watched her for a moment, his eyes suddenly bright and startling.

 

"He’s lucky after all, isn't he?" Mr. Fox's grin, full of sincerity and confidence, found what she could not hide.

 

She unleashed that tiny part of herself that hadn't been consumed by her endless guilt and gave a light laugh, unattended and free. Away from Bruce, but still with him. Because she was here, wasn't she? Where his legacy would still live and breathe, thanks to this man before her.

 

"Miss Asher, please. Take a seat.” Mr. Fox slipped back into his chair, leaning back as if he had had time to talk to her all day.

 

“Thank you.” Selina relaxed for the first time in days, her skin feeling like her own again.

 

He smiled. "Whatever else you have to tell me, it can wait." He paused, smile widening and drawing Selina into its comfort. "How would you like to take a tour?"

 

_________

 

Andrew admittedly missed hearing people call him his father’s name. _Jean Paul._ He was used to donning various disguises, could create a new profile in his sleep if necessary, and in five different languages.

 

But Jean Paul would always be his father’s, would always be his. Even if he had nothing left in this world—and he’d didn’t—he’d always had that.

 

He followed the woman out of Wayne Enterprises, slinking past the guards in his paint-splotched jumpsuit after he showed his ID, wondering how long he’d have to pull off this one.

 

And if Jim, for all his faithfulness to a dying man’s wish, would let him get to the bottom of this mystery.

 

It could be his imagination, but it seemed as if Gordon had dangled Wayne’s identity—the entire situation—like a carrot in front of his face. What would any smart person do with that?

 

And in a way, this relinquishing of obscurity made sense. If Wayne was in trouble, and it looked that way, than they’d need as much help as they could get. It was an SOS if he’d ever seen one.

 

Andrew was right for the job. He’d been bored out of his mind for months now, since his own injury that had side-lined him for over a year. But that was better now. He longed to feel useful again.

 

He looked beyond the morning crowd and found her. The woman crossed the street again. Cat, wasn’t it? Her assumed name, his ass.

 

He snorted, placing his paint supplies in his rusted van with exaggerated care.

 

Cat burglar was more like it.

 

And kidnapper.

 

He had newspapers to prove it, in his safe in New Orleans. He wasn’t old-fashioned as much as he was...prepared. He didn’t put stock into the latest electronics and technology. Only in himself.

 

He smiled, cracking the stern look on his face. Now, this, this discovery could come in handy.

 

He wasn’t one to use things against people—okay, maybe he was—but this had fallen right into his lap. He couldn’t not take advantage of it.

 

Gordon, when Andrew told him all about Selina Kyle, and that he had Vicki Vale’s personal number, as well as a direct way to contact Lois Lane, would surely bring him into the fold.

 

Surely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews feed my inspiration! Thanks so much for reading! <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please pardon any and all typos in this one. I swear I’m going to fall asleep as I type this but I was determined to post today. Two new scenes in this update. Hope you enjoy the chapter.

Another day paused by, not that it mattered. It felt as if they kept circling the same day, over and over, like Bruce. The monotony would be getting to her had Bruce’s health not been so serious. But since it was, she had to treat each day—each hour—like it was brand new. For his sake. And a sacrifice like that wasn’t much for Selina. Not when she considered all that Bruce had had to give up.

 

Selina greeted Gordon at the clinic's front door, anxious for the official meeting between these two friends. Yesterday, Bruce had awakened to a severe migraine as before. He hadn’t been coherent enough to realize he’d had visitors. Gordon had left, promising he'd return.

 

She’d wished he could’ve stayed, though Bruce had remained unaware of anyone else in the room with him. She was getting used to Gordon—but she wouldn’t go as far as saying he was a friend. At least, not to her.

 

Bruce had only hunched within himself, consumed with pain and unresponsive to Selina's voice. That fact alone had almost crushed her, for he'd been responsive to her light touch and voice before. She blamed the concussive damage from Bane and cursed herself for every evil act she'd committed.

 

The new emotions Bruce elicited from Selina vexed her. The sadness she felt that the commissioner was unable to converse normally with his former partner troubled her similarly. As exhausted as she was, constantly battling her conflicting emotions, she recognized they were the first honorable feelings she'd experienced in a long, long time.

 

Selina closed the door against the fierce storm and her sweeping thoughts. The commissioner traipsed in snow, taking the opportunity to wipe off his shoes on the mat.

 

She’d never imagined herself as Bruce Wayne's caretaker—or any man’s—but that is what she'd become. Bruce had accepted it. Gordon had. Leslie. Selina, herself, could not imagine anyone else being here in her place.

 

Selina cared for Bruce, almost to the point of obsession. Although she didn't know quite what to make of her strong attraction and growing desire to be with him, the job itself was nothing she couldn't handle.

 

"He's ready,” she said as they made their way towards the wing, where Leslie and Bruce waited. "He's caught up and knows you're here. If we're lucky, we may have at least an hour to dissect all we need to take care of before we have to start all over again."

 

She paused, for the first time doubting their decision. Bruce had agreed to telling Gordon officially, but Selina knew all too well how hard it was, caring daily for Bruce in his condition.

 

Gordon stopped her with with his gloved hand. "Miss Kyle.”

 

She swallowed, watching the remaining snowflakes melt into nothing.

 

“Even if it took all day, it would not matter to me,” Gordon said. “His mental state won’t scare me away. I want to help."

 

"Okay," she said quietly. "It's very different seeing him so vulnerable, commissioner. Especially when he knows it...and then doesn't."

 

"But he's improving," Gordon pressed.

 

“Little by little.” She knocked at the door and waited for Leslie.

 

The doctor unlocked the door and smiled, whispering instructions to them as they went in. "He went over his notes with me, took a shower, and now we are waiting for his breakfast. I want to test him about the items this morning, but we can do that later on.”

 

Gordon's breath caught at the site of Gotham's hero in his true form.

 

"Miss Selina Kyle." Bruce drawled, sitting in his chair beside his bed and lazily smiling at her while he rubbed a towel along his wet hair. His own hair, which had grown out, just above his shoulders, fell short of the length of his black wigged ponytail. But this was better, Selina thought.

 

Now Wayne’s hair, naturally streaked with gray at the sides and still damp, looked sexier than ever. Her stomach flipped as her head and heart acknowledged their mutual attraction to him.

 

Face flushing, and relieved Gordon had already stepped in front of, she finished observing Bruce. He’d just showered, obviously, and wore a black t-shirt and shorts that showed the repercussions of his battles with Bane and migraines. It also revealed a troubling weight loss of ten pounds, yet he’d maintained much of his previous strength despite his convalescence. No doubt black was also Bruce Wayne's color. And the street clothes...the street clothes lended themselves well to his physique.

 

She was momentarily speechless.

 

"You're a sight for sore eyes,” Bruce said, and if she’d been thinking clearly, she would’ve seen he only had eyes for her.

 

Leslie smiled and shook her head. "You've seen her 'for the first time in months' a hundred times already, Bruce." She took the towel from Bruce.

 

He shrugged. "One of the perks of short-term memory loss—the spectacular sight of a gorgeous woman in one's hospital room for the first time, over and over again." Bruce didn't lose his grin as he looked to the man beside her. "Gordon."

 

"Bruce Wayne.” Gordon took off his gloves and walked over to him. Gordon reached out his hand, and Bruce followed suit, the handshake tentative with the catheter in Bruce's hand. "I am very glad to see you."

 

Bruce said nothing but maintained his authentic smile. A look of gratitude and fondness passed between the two men, but in a moment, Bruce's smile slipped so slightly that Selina wouldn't have noticed except for the hand that clutched his side.

 

Leslie frowned. "We’ll have to watch that, Bruce. Take a seat, Commissioner." She motioned to the empty chair at the end of Bruce's bed. Gordon gave Bruce a concerned look before backing away. "Bruce?"

 

Bruce nodded, then flattened his mouth as Leslie assisted him out of his chair. After three, painstaking steps, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, albeit awkwardly and sweating through his shirt.

 

For Leslie to wrap his wounded side, he’d have to move further back, which was impossible for him to do on his own since he’d already hunched over, wincing.

 

She slipped beside him as Leslie pulled the pillows from the bed. "What's wrong?" she murmured, resting a hand on his arm.

 

"My back," he confessed.

 

Leslie’s brows rose. "Someone was a bit too zealous this morning, conveniently forgetting he has chronic back pain.”

 

"Conveniently?" Selina looked at Bruce accusingly.

 

“You know I can’t help it,” he said giving her an endearing, lopsided grin.

 

Selina snorted. “Right.”

 

"I was doing fine," Bruce said, his protest morphing into a groan. "It's what I always do to work through pain, and the doctor said...very light exercise."

 

"What you did wasn't light at all," Leslie pointed out.

 

Selina hated to ask, but she did, anyway. "Wayne, what did you do?"

 

"Pushups." His eyes dared her to challenge him. "Far fewer than my normal routine."

 

The admission stung, for she knew the real reason he was having trouble with his back. She had no comeback and removed her hand from his wrist with care. Misery stole over her once more. Leslie had never spoken of Bruce's back injury, and neither had Bruce except for one time. It was the elephant in the room.

 

The last thing she wanted to do was discuss it with a man wrought with a memory malfunction. She felt herself freezing in fear, and moved away from him in a panic, but a hand locked around her wrist.

 

"It's not your fault," Bruce whispered, his fingers loosening around her arm. She didn't want to see or hear his undeserved forgiveness but the gentleness he bestowed upon her was her undoing. "Selina, it's not your fault."

 

Her walls began to crumble. "The hell it isn't, Wayne," she hissed, fighting with everything she had to keep herself from succumbing to those gentle, compassionate eyes. "Stop being so noble. Did you misplace some brain cells along with those memories?"

 

Bruce's expression filled with hurt.

 

"Selina," Leslie said, giving her a dark look. "I don't know what is going on with you two, but now is not the time. I need to finish things up here."

 

"Dr. Thompkins, wait," Bruce's tone demanded complete attention from all in the room, even Gordon. "I think we should talk about it."

 

"But, Bruce," Selina began.

 

"After Dr. Thompkins is finished,” he said firmly. Not once had Selina ever witnessed such a sudden change in Wayne's expression. Commanding. Unyielding. She swore to herself she'd do anything to take back what she said. "It's time."

 

"I'll go get your breakfast." It was a weak excuse but anything to get her out of the room before she embarrassed herself further. She hadn’t meant to turn the tables on him. Her guilt festered when he looked at her, confused again. "You haven't eaten yet this morning.”

 

"I see. Selina.” A sadness shadowed his expression. "Please. Stay. I don't need breakfast. I'd rather talk with you."

 

But she’d hurt him, and she’d hurt herself.

 

She couldn’t.

 

"I need a minute, Bruce,” she said. He was too forgiving, too kind—and too much for her to ever think he'd really fall for a woman with her past. And she was selfish, for thinking that he’d let her go like this once again. "I really do. I will be back."

 

She stressed the last three words, hoping Bruce caught her promise to return.

 

The soft smile he gave her said he had.

______

 

Gordon’s marriage had failed, but that didn't stop him from recognizing a relationship blossoming before his eyes. The pure joy on Wayne's face when had Selina Kyle entered the room had shocked him, but as he witnessed their interplay, he had a feeling that Miss Kyle was going to give Bruce Wayne a run for his money. He was happy for his friend and silently wished him all the happiness in the world.

 

There were many things he should say to Bruce, but he started with what Gotham was like now, what he was doing, and that he never wanted to hear the words 'no auto-pilot' ever again.

 

Bruce chuckled. "I don't even remember saying that."

 

"I know," Gordon said. He leaned forward in his chair, which he'd brought beside Wayne's bed. "But I think you'll figure it out."

 

Bruce pulled out a folder and a small notebook. "Here."

 

Gordon took it and, after opening to the first page, glanced up at him in question.

 

"These are my notes,” Bruce explained. “If we're going to spend some time together, it would be a good idea if you look them over."

 

"So this is how your mind works these days," Gordon murmured, leafing through the pages.

 

"It's the only way it works.” Bruce grimaced. "I couldn't function without these. It makes it easier for everyone else, which is why I work hard to do what they say and record everything."

 

The comments were what Gordon expected from the Batman, although they appeared to have cost Bruce some of his pride. Gordon rubbed his chin, nostalgia getting the best of him. He flipped through the notes slowly, absorbing the intricacies of Bruce's mind, and seeing parts of the man behind the mask. He certainly had a sense of humor and did not bode well with playing a fool for the people who were caring for him. They also had a recurring theme.

 

_Do not make shut in jokes. They upset Cat._

_Record what you ate for breakfast, otherwise you will be asking for ten green smoothies, or more._

_Do not mention anything about a valet ticket and the thief that stole yours. It upsets Cat._

_Knee braces are coming soon. Be patient._

_No matter what, listen during therapy. Don't be stubborn. It upsets Cat._

 

The small notebook held more personal notes Gordon was of the mind to decline from reading, but Bruce merely shrugged.

 

"I wouldn't mind someone else helping me with these, as I sort through these clues."

 

"When will you be able to make the trip to see the specialist?" Gordon asked, eyes pausing at one note-cluttered page.

 

Bruce looked at Leslie.

 

"Oh no, don't look at me," she shook her head. "We went over that a few minutes ago, Bruce. Take a minute to think about it."

 

Bruce gave her a rueful smile. "You're not making this easy, Leslie."

 

"We don't get anywhere with being easy, Bruce. I have to push you."

 

Bruce held still, as if his entire mind and body focused on the task. A half-minute went by, then another. He finally turned his head towards Gordon and grinned. "Seven days, if all things go well."

 

"He's right." Leslie smiled. "We're waiting on two things. What are they?”

 

"Knee braces and...this.” Bruce waved a hand at the IVs. “I, for one, can’t wait until I can move without being hooked up to something.”

 

"You remembered." Leslie's eyes softened. She placed a spoon, mitten, and apple on his bedtray. "That's good. Really good."

 

Bruce eyed the objects warily. "Therapy?"

 

"Yes. Do you remember what I told you that you have to do?"

 

"Say the names out loud. Spell them. Say them again. Close my eyes and say them and then say them in order backwards." Bruce finished the string of sentences with a flourish and looked up at Leslie expectantly.

 

Leslie beamed. "That's the first time you explained all of that back to me. You are making progress, Bruce. Wait until Selina hears about this." She squeezed his shoulder. "It will knock her out of her mood."

 

Bruce proceeded with his task, and Gordon continued to observe and read the notes and book. Hearing the Batman study three simple objects grieved Gordon—enormously—and the worst hadn't even occurred yet—witnessing the inevitable brain reset. Gordon's sadness grew as Bruce struggled to repeat the items when his eyes were closed. He managed to do everything correctly, but it took more time than Gordon expected. The next step, Gordon found out, was for Bruce to tell her what objects she placed before him in ten minutes.

 

"You've gotten at least one item right the past few times we've done this, so don't look at me with those sad puppy-dog eyes, Mr. Wayne," Leslie said, as she put away the three items. "We are making progress.

 

"Slow progress," Bruce said quietly, shifting against his pillow. "Leslie, I don't know how to...all you've done..."

 

"Bruce, you never have to thank me."

 

Gordon smiled to himself.

 

Leslie reached out her hand to Bruce, palm up with two pills. "For your back. It's not as strong as the other painkillers."

 

A frown flickered over Bruce's face. "My back's fine."

 

"It's not for you to decide. Take them,” she said firmly. "They're non habit-forming and the less pain that you're in, the less you'll use up of Commissioner Gordon's precious time."

 

Bruce raised an eyebrow and silently took the pills, tossing them down with a drink of water.

 

Concerned, Gordon ventured. "Will it bother you when we travel?"

 

"It won't give me trouble. It healed." Leslie gave Bruce a withering look, but it was ignored. Gordon got the feeling there was more to the story than Bruce let on. "It is uncomfortable at times, like it is now, but nothing that will hold me back from traveling."

 

"What do you mean—it healed?"

 

"It's something I'd like to finally understand, Bruce, too," Leslie said. "I've given you some time, not wanting to overwhelm you. But, it's a serious injury that didn't heal correctly and quite frankly, I don't know how you're even walking."

 

"I know," Bruce admitted.

 

"You're going to have to inform a doctor, and I'm willing to be that doctor."

 

"I appreciate that, and like I said earlier—it's time." Bruce sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, clearly distraught over the subject. "Leslie, will you stop me if you see Selina coming? It may be best that I explain without her."

 

"I will," Leslie replied, immediately setting herself by the door.

 

"And...don't get excited about what I am going to tell you both."

 

"I have a feeling I'm not going to like this," Leslie pressed her lips firm, looking at Bruce with displeasure.

 

"No, you're not," Bruce said, tension mounting in the room after his honest answer. "But, please. Don't blame anyone but Bane...or me."

 

Bruce paused, a foreshadowing that, whatever was coming next, it would change things. "So, about what happened, when Batman disappeared five months ago..."

_____________

 

Selina delayed her return to Bruce's room, choosing instead to pour her heart out to a frosted window at the end of one of the corridors. She was tempted to lose herself in the blizzard which befell Gotham a few hours earlier. Taking this 'detour' wasn't fair to Bruce and what had to be an empty stomach, but when did she ever play fair? She’d sacrificed to remain in Gotham, and she’d sacrificed even more to help Bruce Wayne. She told herself she'd already paid her price, but her ongoing, emotional agony since her betrayal had reached a peak she could no longer ignore.

 

Her time was up, whether or not she was in the room for Bruce to explain. Let him throw her to the wolves. It was only right that Bruce inform his doctor the truth about his back injury. Her reaction damned her, so he would most likely share the part she played—and sugar coat it—to help Gordon and Leslie understand. It was possible they’d eventually see things the way Bruce did, but Selina relied on her gut reactions. She expected Crime Alley’s doctor and Gotham’s commissioner to be no different.

 

They’d hate her, now, even before she walked into the room.

 

Footsteps sounded softly behind her.

 

She knew who it was before turning around. "Annette."

 

Surprised to see the woman, Selina white-knuckled the steel mug she held of Bruce's choice of breakfast food. How the man managed to drink this every morning, she didn't know, but she couldn't fault him for eating the insanely nutritious drink. She’d witnessed his physical prowess. He had to keep up his strength.

 

"Cat, Dr. Thompkins told me Cora will be discharged at the end of the week," Annette said, her eyes alighting. "And she will be accompanied by her grandfather."

 

"I'm glad to hear that." Selina eased her death grip on the mug. It was good news. They’d all been concerned about little girl.

 

"I don't know what string you pulled or how you even managed.” Annette took a breath. “But thank you."

 

She looked away. "Thank the police force of Gotham.”

 

"I will, but I know you had something to do with it."

 

Selina almost denied it, not sure she wanted to begin owning up to her heroism. If she accepted her practice of good deeds, things would snowball. But instead of snuffing out the woman's appropriately placed gratitude, she heard herself say something she never thought was possible. "You're welcome."

 

Annette’s eyes filled with tears at the gentle answer. "If there's anything I can do for you in the future, please ask. I can't thank you enough and I..." The woman’s lips trembled, tears slipping onto her checks. She wiped at them hastily. "Just to have my father here with us, after all Cora has been through, is more than I had ever hoped.”

 

Selina shook her head. "You don't have to repay me. You don't owe me anything, for that matter."

 

Annette took a shaking breath. "Since going through this, I realized how much I've shielded myself from the world, not accepting the help of friends. It's not about a debt, it's about a sincere desire to show you that I am grateful for a friend, Miss Asher. For someone who stepped up to help a stranger. But you're not a stranger. I've seen you, Cat. You are a kind-hearted, generous woman."

 

Oh, but she wasn't. She destroyed Batman. She’d damaged Bruce Wayne—maybe beyond healing.

 

Selina practiced the deceit she was so adept at and disguised her heartache with a smile, and her own question. "Did you find a place, then?"

 

"A small one," Annette answered with a tight smile.

 

"Will you be safe?"

 

"I hope so," Annette whispered.

 

She wasn’t convinced. "If you need help, I can talk with the commissioner again.”

 

"No!" Annette's voice sharpened. "Please, just...it'll be okay."

 

What was she afraid of? Selina frowned. "And Cora?"

 

"I'm doing what I think is best. I can't...I can't burden anyone else with this."

 

"What was that talk about accepting help?" Selina asked.

 

"We'll be fine. If I think differently, I'll...I know where to find you." Annette plastered a smile upon her face. "I see you have food for your patient. I admire your dedication. I am...or, was...a nurse. I know how hard you are working."

 

Indebted was more like it. "A nurse?"

 

"Before I was married. My husband...he didn't care for me working once I had Cora."

 

"I see. Annette, I will...I'll be sure to say goodbye to Cora before you leave."

 

"She'd like that."

 

Selina trudged to Bruce's room alone. She'd dug her grave, no matter how many a man she could help rescue, or help regain his memory. At least handing Bruce his drink will give her something to do and guarantee she won’t be shot on the spot.

 

She knocked on his door, heard the lock release, and found herself in the midst of a stony silence and two bowed heads. Bruce, wearing an impossibly relaxed and boyish grin, was the only one who watched her enter.

 

She stayed for him, keeping her gaze averted from the others.

 

"I assume the elephant escaped from the zoo and stormed through the room?" she said blandly, setting the smoothie on his stand. "Write down that this was your breakfast."

 

"There is no elephant and never was, poor zoo. And, thanks.” He smiled and proceeded to drink the entire obnoxious mixture in a ridiculous span of five seconds. He set the empty glass on his tray with a satisfied sigh.

 

"Bruce." Selina hated to remind him, and it worried her that he took a moment to remember.

 

"Right."

 

He still didn't move to document his breakfast. And his lap and tray were empty, save the mug. From the corner of her eye, she saw the journal nestled within the commissioner's hand. Selina shook her head slightly at Gordon to indicate he shouldn't give it to Bruce.

 

"Do you...know where your journal is?"

 

He shrugged. If not for how devastating it truly was, the sheepish look on his face was downright adorable. "No. Guess not."

 

"Okay," she began quietly. "Did you give it to someone to look at?"

 

Bruce crossed his arms and let out a heavy sigh. "Not sure about that, but it's a good possibility."

 

"Why is it a good possibility?" She pulled the other vacant near to his bed and sat, her heart virtually breaking. The timing of her return was poor. It would be downhill from here, and nothing she could do about it.

 

"Because...it would help when we...when..." Bruce stared at her, his eyes betraying him before he could speak.

 

Selina reached for Bruce's hand, and he took it, even though he continued to stare at her as if he'd not seen her for five months.

 

“What's going on? Miss Kyle?" he asked. She saw it then, the hint of recognition. "You...you've been here with me."

 

“Yes.” She warmed his hands with her own.

 

Bruce frowned. "Gordon?"

 

Gordon stood and went to the other side of the bed, carefully placing the journal and folder on Bruce's lap.

 

"Bruce," Gordon said. "Take your time reading what's inside. You'll understand soon enough why we're here. I'll be sitting in that chair, waiting to talk when you're ready. Miss Kyle will be sitting here with you, able to answer any of your questions. You can continue to trust her and believe in her like you always have..." He glanced at her, a gratitude much like Annette's reflecting from his eyes. "I know I do.”

 

___________________

 

Gordon drove him from the clinic like a ton weight had been lifted from his shoulders. No matter what the specialist told Bruce, he wouldn’t have to hear it alone. To say that he was relieved for the younger man was a gross understatement.

 

He smacked the wheel with one hand and laughed. Things were going to okay. He just knew it.

 

Humming to himself, he turned onto his street, noticing more than one house with their lights on. He was coming home a little earlier than usual. In fact, he’d be able to watch television to unwind tonight, for once. Make a dinner that did not involve warming Ramen noodles. Drink a beer. Talk to Jimmy before the boy got to his homework. If Babs wasn’t out with her friends or studying, he’d get to talk with her, too. It’d been awhile, and he’d like to rectify that.

 

He pulled into his driveway—and wondered how the hell he didn’t see the SUV parked along the curb in front of his own house.

 

It was Barbara. And the kids. Both of them.

 

They got out of the vehicle, each holding a bag.

 

His hands shook as he turned the ignition off and grabbed his briefcase. Taking a deep breath, he managed a small smile for Babs, who reached him first.

 

She smiled tentatively. “Dad?”

 

He stared at her—his beautiful daughter—for one moment without saying a word.

 

“Say something, Dad,” she said.

 

He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her in a gentle embrace. “I swear you look more grown up than the last time I saw you.”

 

“Because I am,” she whispered. She let go and gave him a swift perusal from head to toe. “Are you eating?”

 

He frowned. “Of course.”

 

She gave her head a slight shake. “You know you forget.”

 

“It’s been...busy.”

 

“Still?”

 

He looked past Bab to his wife, who’d asked the question. “Not like it was a month ago, but there’s always a need.”

 

Her expression closed, not that he’d expected otherwise. At the mere mention of Gotham, everything changed.

 

“I know,” she murmured.

 

With a little effort, he allowed his eyes to soften on her, then Jimmy, to make up for the cold shoulder treatment he was getting from his son. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

 

His ex-wife lifted her chin, as if to challenge him.

 

He refused to let it get the best of him. He took her by the arm, gently. “ Let’s go in, shall we? Order pizza?”

 

“I’ll order,” Babs said, her phone already in hand. “Pepperoni and extra cheese okay with everybody?”

 

“Extra cheese?” Jimmy said, looking at her disdainfully. “Are we two?”

 

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Going on two-and-a-half,” she retorted.

 

Jimmy rolled his eyes. Gordon noticed, for the first time, his son’s nose ring.

 

Gordon cleared his throat. “Extra cheese is fine. Maybe order a small pizza for your brother without the added dairy.”

 

“Extra cheese is fine with me, too,” Jimmy grumbled. He rambled off to the house, sulking into the shadows.

 

Barbara sighed. “I’m sorry.”

 

He shook his head. “Don’t be. I was mad at the world at his age. I remember what it was like.”

 

“No.” She stopped, pulled him back as Babs went ahead, following her brother. “This.”

 

She held up a file and opened it.

 

The divorce papers. He’d filled them out some time ago, feeling like he was signing away his right arm. It was what she’d wanted, and although Jim couldn’t give her a life outside of Gotham, he would give her that. Freedom from him, for good. It was the least he could do after he’d caused their family so much pain.

 

“Did I forget to sign something?” he asked.

 

It was possible. He couldn’t even remember exactly when mailed the file back to her. The days blended together like a bad milkshake on a hot day.

 

He mentally scratched his head. His ex-wife had come all this way, to a city she hated, just for that?

 

She swallowed and looking at him with something he couldn’t describe—and wasn’t sure he wanted to. Not yet.

 

But his stomach did a curious thing. It flipped like it had the day she’d told him she was pregnant with Babs. And then with Jimmy.

 

“No,” she said. “I didn’t sign them at all, Jim.”

 

He stared at her. His…wife?

 

Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “And I don’t plan to.”

 

___________________

 

When Martha opened her front door, her son was standing with his back to her, staring off into the field.

 

She padded over to him in her slippers, letting the screen door shut with a definitive creak. She’d never fixed the thing. The noise reminded her of the good old days, when Jonathan and Clark worked so hard on the farm they’d forget to oil it.

 

She shivered and pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders. “Just because you’re Superman now doesn’t mean have to stay out here, you know. An old farmhouse is just as good as a hero’s mansion.”

 

Clark’s mouth quirked at the corners. “I know,” he said. “And I don’t have a mansion. Never wanted one.”

 

“Not even with Lois?” she asked.

 

“Lois,” he said carefully. “Is...busy.”

 

“Oh, hogwash. And you’re not? When am I getting grandbabies?” she demanded.

 

He turned to her and grasped her by the shoulders, eyes softening. “Someday, somehow, I hope your wish comes true. But right now—“

 

“Right now you’re going to come inside and humor an old woman,” she said, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Spend some time with me, have a piece of pie.”

 

He frowned. “Ma.”

 

“Don’t ‘ma,’ me. You’ve probably been around the world at least twice today, right? To ten other countries? Helping hundreds of people? Without stopping? Without giving yourself a moment to breathe in the fresh air around you?”

 

He paused, then nodded.

 

“Then you can spare me fifteen minutes,” she said. “And tell me what’s troubling you. Because it’s the middle of the week, and you stop by midweek only when you’re upset.”

 

He looked at her sheepishly. “Okay.”

 

She smiled at her beautiful, brilliant son. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please review? <3
> 
> ETA: If anyone could shed some light on this small issue I have—that would be fantastic. How do you tag for two Barbara Gordons when your story includes both the mother and the daughter? Ugh. There doesn’t seem to be a specific “Babs Gordon” tag to choose from. But it could be my tired brain just doesn’t want to cooperate with me tonight.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New scenes and such...
> 
> I’m pushing myself to get these updated. Please pardon my little typos! I’ll try to look it over again tomorrow, but I really wanted to get it posted tonight.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the chapter. :)

Gordon didn’t know what possessed him but, before he left for work, he took a tray of food up to his wife.

 

Barbara was thoroughly shocked, sitting up without any concern over her bedraggled appearance. “Breakfast in bed? Even when we were…”

 

 _Married_ went unsaid.

 

“We still are, according to you,” he said with mirth.

 

She gave him a small smile. “You don’t have to impress me, Jim.” She patted her hair, grimacing. “Look at me, I’m a mess.”

 

He wanted to tell her she looked beautiful. “I’m not trying to impress you.”

 

“Then why?”

 

He sat on the edge of the bed, sighing. “We need to talk.”

 

They had, some, last night, but the children had been the center of attention. First, Babs, who had decided, for now and for reasons she did not elaborate, to drop most of her classes and finish a few online. He didn’t know what to think, especially when his daughter’s beautiful smile faded as he’d continue to question her. After that, he decided not to push for details. A gut feeling had told him she’d clue him in when she was ready. Until then, he’d give her the benefit of a doubt. She was young, for a college student in her sophomore year, not yet nineteen. And it seemed that Jimmy, despite the trouble he was getting in at school, would graduate high school early like his sister.

 

Barbara, surprisingly, wouldn’t tell him what had happened, either. And their son? He’d had acted like he didn’t care.

 

Gordon wondered if they should be seeing a family counselor together, for all the communication they’d managed between them.

 

Barbara looked at her food, the bowl oatmeal and fruit, both her favorites, not a little dismay on her face. “Now?”

 

“No,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you that impression. Please, eat.”

 

“You still haven’t answered my question, Jim.”

 

“I’m afraid you didn’t think hard enough about your decision to come back,” he admitted. “Things are…”

 

A look passed between them.

 

“The same,” she said quietly.

 

He nodded.

 

“I’m ashamed that I thought I could throw all of this away,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut. She curled up on the bed, drawing her knees up to her chest.

 

He hesitated a moment, then placed a hand on her knee. “Barbara, I want you to do what’s best for you.”

 

She gave a small, tearful laugh. “You see? It’s all there, right in front of me, and I...tossed it away—”

 

“You were trying to survive,” he pointed out. “I wasn’t making it easy on you.”

 

“No.” She wiped away the few tears that had fallen. “But I knew what I was getting into when I married you, a young cop.”

 

“If you weren’t happy then, I don’t see how you will be happy now.”

 

“I know the facts,” she said, lifting her chin. “Believe me, I know. I’ve talked it over with my counselor.”

 

His brows hiked high. “A counselor?”

 

“Your daughter is the one who suggested it. She’s studying to be a child psychologist.”

 

He nodded. This, he knew. This side of his wife, he didn’t.

 

Barbara smiled. “I took her advice. I listened to her. She’s growing up to be quite a young woman.”

 

He had always been proud of Babs. Both his children. “But…” He couldn’t find the words to express his fear, that she would change her mind after getting his hopes up. “We need to take things slow, for all our sakes.”

 

“I know. If I hurt you again, I’ll be hurting myself more,” she said, reaching up to touch his cheek. “I wouldn’t forgive myself. And the kids are older, with their own dreams for their future. And I...I miss you, Jim.”

 

He missed her. Oh, how he missed her. And once Bruce had recovered, and moved on with his life, Gordon would have less to worry about—

 

He froze.

 

“What is it?” Barbara asked.

 

He was torn. How was he going to escape for a few days and travel with Wayne to the specialist? It was impossible. He couldn’t leave, not with Barbara here, and the children. They would ask questions he couldn’t answer.

 

They would know something was up the minute he told them he needed time off, away from Gotham.

 

He never left Gotham.

 

“I’m speechless,” he said honestly, and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek, surprising them both.

 

And, thinking of Bruce and Selina, tried to come up with a way to soften the bad news.

 

__________

 

Bruce stretched his legs out in front of him, taking another cursory glance around the spacious rec room. They were alone except for a man in the opposite corner playing a card game and a mom watching over her two toddlers, who were playing with blocks.

 

"I wondered how you got rid of that limp the first time,” Blake mused. “How does it feel to put it on? Does it hurt?"

 

"A little."

 

John made a sympathetic face. "That bad, huh? I heard you have two now.”

 

Bruce grimaced. The brace was a necessary evil, something he’d rather forget in life .But without it, his quality of life would quickly diminish. "I only got as far as the one.”

 

"I don't blame you. So, what are you going to do about your knees?"

 

"I'm not sure. I'd like to get my memory back first."

 

Blake leaned forward, asking quietly,” That’s still a major problem? I was hoping things were better.”

 

Bruce rested his cane against the table. "They are, just not as fast as I'd like. I won’t complain, though.” He grinned. “It helps that I have a beautiful nurse."

 

"Is that so?" Blake looked intrigued. "What's her name?"

 

"Asher," Bruce said, just as Cora and her mother entered the room.

 

They didn’t see him as they settled on a couch. Cora chose a book from a small pile of books on the coffee table and, soon, Annette took her on her lap and began to read aloud.

 

"Catherine Asher,” Bruce added, straining to hear what mother and child were reading. He’d like to know the title, so he could read it to her sometime. He had his journal and pen poised to jot it down. “But I call her Cat."

 

Blake smirked. “You’re sure she’s a nurse?"

 

Bruce didn't answer. Fredericks had strolled into the rec room not long after his daughter and granddaughter—but he didn’t join them.

 

No, he, of course, headed straight towards Bruce, instead.

 

"Just great," Bruce muttered. "John, if I have any trouble with my memory, get me out of here."

 

Blake looked at him, alarmed. "Okay. Are you having trouble now?”

 

"Not yet." Bruce fought his jerk reaction—plastering a billion dollar smile to hide his worry. Fredericks, he had discovered or, rather, rediscovered, spoke his mind even outside of a business setting. He'd call him on anything that seemed out of place.

 

"Good afternoon," Fredericks said to Bruce.

 

"Mr. Fredericks, this is John," Bruce said, making quick to introduce them. "A good friend of mine."

 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." Blake shook his hand.

 

Fredericks stared at him. "You look familiar.”

 

Blake cleared his throat. "I had been a police officer until very recently."

 

Bruce blinked. "What?"

 

"I...resigned.”

 

Bruce’s stomach dropped. "You didn't tell me that."

 

"I know.” Regret flashed across Blake’s face. "I...I knew it would upset you.”

 

That was an understatement.

 

“I should have told you, though.” Blake exhaled slowly. “I gave up the badge after...Bane.”

 

Bruce clenched his jaw. A rash decision, then. "And you thought it over well?"

 

Blake shrugged. "Well enough, and even now I have no doubts."

 

“Fair enough.” Bruce arched one brow. "And Gordon?"

 

"Feels the same as you, I imagine.” Blake’s grimaced. “I haven't talked to him since...well...since..."

 

"Since when?" Bruce had an idea.

 

"Your funeral."

 

Bruce looked away. “I see. And that...is when..." His voice trailed off, and he took a hasty breath. "You turned in your badge then?"

 

"No, a few days before."

 

Feeling sick that his 'death' had had some influence on Blake's decision, Bruce was at a loss for words.

 

Blake gave him a smile. "But look on the bright side. I have the time to come here and visit you.”

 

"As much as I appreciate that, I’m sorry to hear you turned in your badge."

 

_The Bat is armed and ready to fly, but this time for a different purpose. He'll take the Bat over the bay. He has no other choice._

 

"Look.” Blake glanced up at Fredericks, which reminded Bruce he was still there, before giving Bruce his full attention. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you mention it earlier. I know...I know it was sudden and unexpected, but the decision has been made. And I am happy to help you however I can, now that I know you're here. It's the least that I can do after all you've done for me."

 

“And what is it that Bruce has done, if you don’t mind me asking?” Fredericks asked.

 

“He’s like a brother,” Blake said. “A big brother.”

 

Bruce can’t say anyone thought of him like that before. He didn’t know what to say. “I don't need repaid for anything, John."

 

But he did need privacy. That Fredericks was witnessing an emotional exchange was enough, but now he’d seen, first-hand, Bruce’s struggle to keep up a simple conversation.

 

_Bruce clips the wire to the bomb. No autopilot, he says. Alfred was right, he thinks. Selina's voice raises in panic, her eyes filling with horror. Yes, they were suckers, but he had known she'd be back. His heart skips a beat as she pulls him close for a last kiss._

 

"I know you think that way, but friends help each other out,” Blake said.

 

Bruce nodded, squeezing his eyes shut and leaning on his elbows on the table. He covered his face with his hands. He needed to pull himself together, not fall apart like this again. He exhaled a long breath, picturing Blake at his funeral. His stomach knotted.

 

His friends had been there. His funeral had been months ago, and all Bruce had done was waste his time in a clinic, at a dead end with a faulty memory, forgoing whatever plans he'd made for himself in the first place.

 

"I'm sorry,” Blake apologies. “I didn't think it would bother you this much.”

 

_His gut clenches as he manages the controls. He doesn't know if he will be able to save Gotham, let alone his own life. He let it be like he was going to his death._

_For a split second over the bay he doesn't even know if he wants to try to save himself._

 

"Are you alright, son?" Fredericks asked as Bruce's memory hit one dead end after another.

 

Stuck. That's what he was. Stuck in a place he didn't understand, not even with these glimpses. Glimpses, that's all they were. Mere shadows. Not the whole story, but all out of context. He still had nothing to offer Selina. Not when he was stuck, in a figurative sense.

 

"Should I get Dr. Thompkins?" Blake asked.

 

"No. No, I'm fine." Bruce set his hands down on the table to brace himself as he stood.

 

He grasped his cane and stepped forward, thankful he had the foresight to first give his aching knee a test. He'd sat too long. Somehow, he had to move forward.

 

“I just remembered something,” he said.

 

"You did?" Blake straightened in his chair, eyes hopeful.

 

"I need a cup of coffee."

 

__________

 

Selina didn't wait ten minutes. He wouldn't last that long, despite his lust for freedom. He was a getting too antsy at the clinic, and she worried. He couldn't be caged if his memory was returning, even if he was suffering from debilitating migraines. He should be comfortable and under best care, but the truth was, the clinic was shrinking.

 

It had already closed in on her. She snuck in a quick run, a late one. She never slept for longer than five hours each night. It was better for her to have at least an hour outside of the clinic so she could regain clarity. If she craved for an hour apart from her responsibilities here, she couldn't imagine what Bruce craved, despite the fact he couldn't remember how long he'd been at the clinic.

 

She entered the rec room, coming to an immediate stop when she saw Blake at the table with Fredericks. Bruce was nowhere to be seen. Heart pounding, she turned—and nearly ran into a cup of steaming dark liquid.

 

"Bruce," she breathed in relief.

 

"Checking up on me?”

 

"Why are you carrying a cup of hot coffee when you are limping? And using a cane?"

 

"Someone has to.”

 

"You don't even have a lid," she said, irritated. "Wait."

 

She retrieved the lid from the counter and took the coffee from him.

 

"Did you take your pills?" She pressed the lid down, checking it twice that it wouldn’t spill.

 

"No,” he said flatly.

 

"Of course you didn't." He really did need a babysitter.

 

"I will once we get to the table." He began to walk, his limp more pronounced than ever. "I haven't told him about you, so maybe...maybe you should wait here until I do."

 

"You really think he'll flip out?"

 

"I hope not."

 

"I'm a big girl. I can handle it."

 

He looked at her amusedly "It’s not you I’m worried about. I just don't want him to make a scene."

 

“I don’t think the detective—”

 

“Ex-detective,” Bruce pointed out.

 

“Ex-detective makes ‘scenes.” Selina looked around the rec room, counting heads. Annette and Cora were there—everyone else had left. "And, we’re practically alone."

 

He frowned. “If you’re sure.”

 

She took his elbow, promising herself she would not let the ex-detective ruin her day.

 

As they approached John and Fredericks, both men stopped talking and looked up at them.

 

"Let me guess," Blake said, narrowing his eyes on her. "You're Cat. The nurse."

 

"And you must be the detective" she said cooly.

 

He looked like he wanted to cuff her and haul her off to jail. "Have you retracted your claws?"

 

"John," Bruce warned.

 

Blake had the decency to listen to Bruce's warning and remained quiet as she placed Bruce's coffee on the table. A moment passed as she waited to help him be seated, but Bruce stared at the chair as if it was entirely covered with Miranda’s poisoned blades, not a floral cushion.

 

"I think I'll just stand for now,” Bruce said.

 

"It would be a good idea for you to take those pills,” she said. “Then you'll be able to sit without too much pain."

 

"What pills?"

 

She opened her mouth to reply to his smart remark when she realized he wasn't teasing. "The ones in your pocket," she said, handing him the small water bottle she'd brought with her and stashed in her hoodie.

 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the medication with a sigh. He took the pills without a word and stared at the chair somewhat hatefully.

 

Selina wondered how she was going to pull him out of his brooding mood this time.

 

"I really don't feel like sitting."

 

She could tell by the way he shifted from one foot to the other. "I know, but I think you should. At least until the meds kick in."

 

"I'm fine,” he still argued.

 

"Sit."

 

He shook his head and stared at the floor. Selina worried, seeing she was getting nowhere with him. She glanced at Blake. _What did you say?_ she mouthed.

 

Blake widened his eyes and shrugged. _I don't know?_

 

She glared at him. Surely he'd said something to trigger Bruce's foul mood.

 

"John didn't say anything, Selina." Bruce commented. She noticed his slip, just as she did when he was in pain or was confused. Bruce sighed and grabbed his coffee, taking one cautious sip. "I just need...I need..."

 

"To take a walk?" Fredericks stood, and offered Bruce the first smile she'd ever seen from the man.

 

Bruce smiled back. "Mr. Fredericks, a walk would be nice."

 

Selina wanted to protest—Bruce was playing with fire. But he couldn’t deny him a simple conversation, could she?

 

"Five minutes," was all she said.

 

____________

 

Bruce held his coffee, cane and all. He left the rec room with Fredericks, opting for the shorter hallway to the right. It was in the opposite direction of his room and in an area he didn't recognize, but he felt adventurous.

 

"She's a good nurse,” Fredericks said after an uncomfortable silence.

 

"She is." Bruce paused and leaned with all his weight on the cane as he drank his coffee. It burned as it went down.

 

"She cares about you,” Fredericks went on.

 

And Bruce did for her. “Yes,” he said softly.

 

“There’s something between you?”

 

“Maybe.” Bruce looked him in the eye. “Look, I know you don’t want to talk about my relationship with her.”

 

“You’re right, I don’t.”

 

“What’s this about, Douglas?” Bruce asked, softening his tone.

 

The older man narrowed his eyes on him. "You've been here, for what? Two months?

 

"Sounds about right." His mood soured generously at Fredericks' attempt to solicit information.

 

"I'm sorry about the ordeal you suffered. Your injuries are more difficult than you let on."

 

They were, but it wasn’t his business. "They’re improving. It's nothing I want to waste my breath on to explain." Bruce waved away his concern, along with his cane.

 

He limped over the the wall, leaning against it for support instead of his cane, and sipped his coffee. Maybe he should pretend to be the airhead again. At the moment, it didn't seem too difficult to fake.

 

Fredericks would not let it go. "Should you trust her?"

 

The next sip was a mistake. Bruce coughed. "Yes—"

 

"I would like to understand something, Bruce. The more I watch you, the more I see that this situation is nothing like Commissioner Gordon or you have described to me."

 

"The situation itself is precarious. I was under the impression you understood this."

 

Fredericks crossed his arms. "Someone is not being truthful."

 

"Gordon is not at fault here."

 

"So it’s you who is at fault?" Fredericks asked.

 

"No.” Bruce sighed. "Look. I...can't tell you. I know it's a lot to ask, but you’ll have just have to trust me."

 

As the older man’s face hardened, he had a feeling he was about to get a lecture. "Tell me this, then. I care deeply for your family. Your father was one of my best friends. After I watched his son live foolishly and then throw away everything his family built, what am I supposed to think when I hear the concern of an ex-cop and the senator's kidnapper? Not to mention that neither the ex-cop nor the Commissioner Gordon were bothered by the fact she's a criminal."

 

Bruce fell back on his old persona. "I don't know what you mean," he said, brushing off the man's concern with a disinterested, careless answer.

 

Fredericks stiffened. "I see. I'd hoped you would respond to my questions a bit differently, but maybe you haven't changed at all. And I've always believed in you, Bruce. These circumstances, however, make me wonder what this is really about."

 

"Are you going back on your promise, Mr. Fredericks? That’s in poor taste,” Bruce pointed out. "And my nurse...will you be taking this absurd accusation up with the police?"

 

"No, but only because James Gordon is involved and Miss Kyle saved my life, which in turn has helped my daughter and granddaughter. Jim Gordon is a good man. I know some don't agree with his past actions, hiding the truth from the citizens of Gotham the past eight years, but I still do. I've always had faith in him and the Batman.”

 

Bruce swallowed uncomfortably. “Right.”

 

“But, I think that for whatever reason, your 'resurrection' must remain a secret, as he said,” Fredericks continued.

 

"Gordon is a good man," Bruce affirmed.

 

"I’ve never doubted him. I trust him."

 

"But you don't trust me, even though Gordon is protecting Bruce Wayne."

 

"I'm sorry,” Fredericks said, but he didn’t look sorry at all. “I can't. You almost ruined your father's company. In fact, I’d say you did.”

 

Bruce winced. “I know.”

 

“His legacy, Bruce. Do you have any idea how bad that has made things? Worse, you won't come back to fix any of it. It helps seeing how you've changed, but how long will that last? Given the way you responded to my questions just now, it doesn’t look like this metamorphosis of yours lasted long at all."

 

"I can't come back to fix things but I am trying to change. Actually.” Bruce gave a short laugh. "These things aren't even a choice."

 

"Annette explained that to me. You are different, but something else is off with you."

 

"Your five minutes are up." Selina's voice drifted down the hallway.

 

Grateful for the unprecedented interruption, Bruce tightened his grip on his cane. His leg throbbed. Selina, pushing a wheelchair, was about to rescue him in more ways than one.

 

"Need a ride?” she asked Bruce.

 

"I do,” Bruce said, only making it into his seat for the extra hand she gave him. "Mr. Fredericks, thank you for speaking so candidly, although you don’t need to burden yourself with my life.”

 

"I’m not overburdening myself. I’m using age-old common sense.” Fredericks’ jaw set. “My granddaughter is enamored with you. Please don't disappoint her."

 

________

 

"What was that all about?" Selina asked.

 

They watched Fredericks walk away, his harsh words ringing in her ears.

 

"He used to like me,” Bruce mused. “Now he hates me. But I still like him.”

 

She sniffed. "I'm never letting you be alone with that man again. He can't be hard on you like that."

 

Bruce glanced up at her, frowning. "Who can't be hard on me like that?"

 

She brushed off his question for his sake—and hers. "It's...it's not important. Don't worry about it.” If she'd waited even a minute longer Bruce would be in the midst of another mess, and she’d have to explain his memory loss. "I'm postponing your game with Cora that was this afternoon. Actually, it's in half an hour. That's too soon."

 

"Game?" He inspected his coffee cup. "Why am I drinking coffee? I do that in the mornings. I don't care to drink coffee past noon. You just said it's afternoon."

 

"You must have a good reason for holding that cup in your hands, but I don't know what it is. I'm going to take you back to your room so we can refresh your memory."

 

"Selina..." Bruce hunched forward.

 

She made a mental note to give him a massage once they’d returned to his room.

 

And again, when he reached back to rub the back of his neck, a look of resignation on his face.

 

"I'm listening,” she acknowledged.

 

"I don't...I don’t think I want to be here, anymore."

 

She swallowed. "I know."

 

_________________________________

 

Babs smiled at every single person on the way up to Dad’s office. She said hello, she was a dutiful daughter, she answered politely—and she never used to be so…so...lame.

 

Who knew that one night—one stupid night—would change everything for her. But she wouldn’t cry. Or wallow in self-pity. She could be a bundle of nerves on the inside, but she wouldn’t expose what she’d tried so hard to suppress. She prided herself on this emotional obscurity, although it would probably be better if she had a good cry with a gallon of ice cream.

 

Chocolate mint. Her favorite. With whipped cream. Topped with nuts she’d buy in bulk. Maybe sprinkles, too.

 

It sounded heavenly and indulgent and way too caloric.

 

It sounded perfect.

 

And so did seeing her dad in his element. Dad didn’t know, but she still had a photo that Detective Montoya had taken of her dad without his knowing. She liked to look at it when she was homesick.

 

Homesick for Gotham, as strange as it sounded. Homesick for the life that was in her blood. The reason she went into psychology.

 

She was scarred from that awful incident on the roof, but Jimmy, more so. She didn’t exactly agree with her mom that coming back would help him, to be near his father. She certainly didn’t agree that running away from her own problems was the cure-all, either. But, she’d wanted to see her dad and tell him face-to-face.

 

She needed to tell him now, before she lost her nerve. And before her mom decided it needed to be done.

 

Waiting for what seemed like an eternity, Babs sat in a chair by the secretary’s desk, tapping her knee to the tune of Gotham’s fight song.

 

She’d learned it as a young child, never growing out of the enthusiasm and pride for her city. Call her crazy, but she was looking forward to it annoying Jimmy, who didn’t like to listen to anything but Screaming Machines, once he was enrolled in Gotham High.

 

But as she stared through the glass door and at her father, and the man gesturing in what seemed to be angry movements, she decided she had awful timing.

 

Whatever they were discussing, her dad didn’t like it one bit. She’d learned to watch the signs early in her life. It was all in the set of his jaw, his shoulders, even. And the raw emotion in his eyes. Sure, he was a detective and good at his job, but every so often, something would hit him...like this.

 

She stood and poured herself more coffee, meanwhile reading their lips. A habit she’d picked up people watching in cafes. She could make out a few words, like “no,” and “yes,” of course. Others, she could only guess. But she finally got the gist, when she could make out “want to meet him,” and then on her father’s lips— “this is blackmail,” “tell no one,” and “I’m disappointed in you.”

 

And by the look of the guy’s face, it seemed as if he’d at least taken that last one to heart—

 

She paused, reflecting on the man’s posture and expression, which hinted of both remorse and rebellion, and lifted her head to take a second look at his profile.

 

Dad knew him. She was certain of it. She knew him.

 

He’d cut her hair when she was little. Tricked her into trying her dad’s beer. Found her a toad for her birthday. Eight years her senior, he’d been her first crush. He’d never apologized for any of it and then, one day, he’d disappeared without a good-bye. Going out on his own, Dad had said.

 

She pictured it again, just as she had then. A young man she’d looked up to. Confident, smart, handsome, orphaned—and alone.

 

She’d sat and cried for hours, feeling as if she’d lost her best friend. He’d never talked to her again, although she’d known he’d kept in touch with Dad over the years.

 

He turned slightly and locked eyes with her, as if he’d known she’d been observing him a little too closely.

 

_Jean Paul?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could be adding an extra chapter soon...I’m really excited about a few upcoming additions to plot/character growth. Hope you enjoy what’s next! Reviews are greatly appreciated...thanks!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New content in this one! And in the next couple of chapters. I’ll be taking my time developing this stage of the story, so settle in! Hope you enjoy the changes!

Selina rarely grew frustrated when bringing Bruce up to speed. This time, however, as she went over their plan to leave the clinic, and the precautions they’ve been taking with Fredericks and his family, she found herself careening off the edge of sanity. Especially when Bruce's secret flirted so dangerously at the surface, and the ex-cop who’d arrested her was in the same room, listening.

 

"So I didn't say anything else about our conversation?" Bruce's expression teemed with irritation.

 

"No." If only she'd come a little earlier, they'd know something of the confrontation and he'd be less inclined to lay the blame all on himself.

 

"So we're clueless on what he suspects. I suppose it was a bad idea that I wanted to take a walk alone."

 

"Yes, it was." She hadn't trusted her instincts because he was like chocolate. She had a thing for chocolate and found it difficult to say 'no.' Especially when it came to the darker varieties.

 

He groaned. "Please—don't let me do something like that again."

 

She handed him his notebook. "Write it down."

 

"I have to say, I'm impressed," Blake said, watching Bruce scrawl his note.

 

"That he can admit when he's wrong?" She snickered.

 

Bruce looked up from his notes, annoyance flashing across his face.

 

"No, that you handle the issues with Bruce and his memory so professionally." Blake considered them both with a slightly confused expression. "And that you two work this well together."

 

"I've had a lot of practice. Plus, all I have to do is remind him he is in no position to argue with me." She was glad the past two months were behind them. The future had to be better. “He’s like putty in my hands.”

 

Bruce sent her a look, but it softened in a blink of an eye. "I couldn't have managed without you. Now that Blake is here, you can get a break when you need..." He paused, distracted by a new alert on his phone. "Leslie messaged me about a room for you? Selina, you've been sleeping in the janitor's closet?"

 

"Or, here.” On a lumpy cot. “And you’re the one who arranged for a new room for me.”

 

"You'll take the one next door," Bruce lips curved upward as he finished reading the text. "That's convenient. And you’ll get more privacy.”

 

She didn’t want to move next door, even if it was for one night, but she had to agree that the current arrangement wasn’t all that comfortable. "I'm moving your visit with Cora in here."

 

"Cora...she’s Fredericks' granddaughter.” Blake tucked his hands in his pockets, looking pensive.

 

Selina exchanged a look with Bruce.

 

"Yes, what is it, John?" Bruce asked.

 

"There were two more murders. The victims were men rescued along with Fredericks from the tunnels."

 

"More murders? Wait, back up. What happened to Fredericks?"

 

Bruce's confusion twisted her heart as it always did. She explained, and Bruce’s expression sobered. "So, you've been doing some detective work."

 

"I seem to have a lot of time as of late,” Blake said. "I gave my notes to my cousin, who handed them over to Gordon for me. I'm surprised Fredericks is still here, actually, because everyone who’d been trapped in that room is connected to another drug ring already under investigation, at least it was before Bane took control of the city. The guy in charge is a man going by the name of Boss Zucco."

 

Bruce frowned. "That name is unfamiliar to me."

 

"It is to everyone because he's like a chameleon—his alias constantly changes," Blake explained. "Of course, the ring vanished into thin air when Bane took over Gotham. Those who were kidnapped were either relatives or directly involved. According to one witness, Fredericks' dead son-in-law did business with someone who was seen talking with one of the murder victims the night he died. It wasn't really a talk. More like...a fight. Landed one in the hospital. I think this ‘friend’ has something to do with the murder."

 

“His name?”

 

“If it is a he. The name’s Ghost.”

 

Bruce wrote it down. “Interesting. He’s...or she’s...disappeared since, I take it?”

 

“Yes,” Blake said. “To safety—or in the bay and at the bottom.”

 

“Let’s hope not. If GPD could find this man, strike a deal and him to talk…” Bruce shook his head. “I’m getting ahead of myself. Tell me more about Annette and Cora. Refresh my memory.”

 

"Annette and Cora lived on the streets after her father was kidnapped,” Selina said, frowning. “This so-called friend and connection to her husband explains a lot."

 

"You've discussed this with her," Bruce said slowly, as if remembering this for himself.

 

"Yes,” she said. Then quickly, amending her reply, “Some of it. Mostly small talk."

 

"You?” Blake said with a laugh. “Small talk?"

 

"If I have to.” Looking back, it hadn't been all that bad except for the fact it was now clear to her she was growing far too soft, helping strays. "She was spooked by one of the guards. She said he knew her husband. Leslie ran her security checks again—he's clean, and she can’t fire him without making them suspicious.”

 

Bruce’s mouth twisted into a frown. “True. But since they haven’t exactly harmed her, Annette must have something—knowledge—or something else—that they want.

 

Selina had to agree. “Annette feels that the clinic is the safest place right now instead of moving around,” she said. “Not only that but her father's house is in shambles, and he isn't well enough to take care of his estate, unless he outsources.” And who in their right minds would come to Gotham for a job right now? “They told Gordon they don't want to draw attention to themselves. Leslie’s letting them stay here until they find a better place.”

 

"If Annette was frightened by that man, she's not safe, and Cora…” Bruce ran his hands over his face.

 

“You’re worried.”

 

Bruce was silent.

 

“He’s worried?” Blake said. “I’m worried. We’re talking about a three-year-old, and a mother and grandfather who won’t do a damn thing about her safety.”

 

They both looked at Bruce, expecting him to reply, but he turned away from them and stared, darkly, into nothing.

 

Although it wasn’t unusual for Bruce to fall into one of these moods, this time it worried her. “Okay, handsome,” she urged him, drawing him out of it. “We have to do something, but what? You have to have something figured out in that brain of yours.”

 

He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I don’t know, but it has to be something soon and fast,” Bruce muttered, limping over to his dresser. He grabbed his phone from the top and sighed. "They kidnapped family members. This is personal. They wanted them to suffer. Make their victims feel cornered until they get what they want. And if they know where Annette is, they want to her to feel like the walls are closing in on her until the time is right for them to strike."

 

Selina flinched. “Which could be anytime.”

 

“But most likely when they leave,” Blake added.

 

Bruce rubbed his jaw. “Yes, and yes. They’ll be watching them, closely.”

 

"Annette must know what they want,” Selina said, remembering the woman’s fear. "She can't stay here, anymore. It’s too dangerous.”

 

Bruce scowled. "It is, but getting them to leave will be difficult. Fredericks doesn't exactly trust me.”

 

"Not to mention it seems like they don't want to listen to Gordon's advice." Selina didn’t know two more frustrating people right now than Annette and her father. “There is another option,” she said after a moment.

 

“Which is?”

 

She smiled grimly. "You could come clean."

 

"I'm not sure that will solve the problem. I need to figure out where they're safest." He began typing on his phone.

 

It took her a second to realize what he was doing. "So, you're going to offer them a better place to stay?" Selina asked Bruce in disbelief.

 

“I have to.”

 

“You can’t. Your memory, knee…” Everything.

 

Bruce looked at her, a pleading in his eyes that broke her heart. “I can’t just let an innocent child—Cora—stay here, in harm’s way, Selina.”

 

“She’s not your daughter, Bruce,” she said softly. “Or your responsibility.”

 

Her words hit their mark.

 

He looked away, jaw clenching. “I know, but I can’t—”

 

“You may have to, handsome,” she pointed out.

 

Bruce’s expression grew even more determined. “I’ll ask Gordon, first. I’ll see if he can talk to them again. Between the two of us, we’ll figure out this out. We’ll find them a safer place.”

 

The man could do many things, even with memory issues, but this was pushing it. "How are you in the position to do that, now?"

 

Bruce grimaced. "I know I'm limited. Actually, I feel pretty useless these days. But Gordon has to have an idea, and maybe Annette will allow Blake to keep watch over their rooms. With any luck, he’ll get her to talk and we’ll have a better understanding on how to help her.”

 

Blake looked pleased. Selina had a thought that something always had to be going wrong so these two predictable men could fix it. "I can do that,” Blake said. “And Gordon will vouch for me.”

 

"Except that we leave tomorrow, the day after at the latest." Selina glanced at Bruce, who’d gone over to the window. “Handsome? You with me?”

 

He studied a tree outside, not hearing her. "If Fredericks is up to it, there's plenty of room on my plane for three extra people,” he murmured. “Four, including Blake. I'll arrange things now for them to join us.”

 

She tossed her plans for more privacy with Bruce out the window. “And if they say no?”

 

Bruce grinned. “How can he resist figuring me out?”

 

“A carrot trail?” Blake asked.

 

Bruce nodded. “Of sorts. But before I speak with him again, I need to talk with Leslie and Gordon."

 

"I'll get her for you." Selina wasn’t exactly comfortable with the fact that Bruce would be around three people in close quarters in his condition. How on earth would they be able to hide his memory loss? "Bruce, Annette and her father—they'll want to know why you are traveling to a hospital instead of Gotham General."

 

Bruce looked torn. "I'd rather not disclose that information, if I don’t have to. You know I can't say too much, Selina, or they’ll suspect we’re lying. I can say Dr. Thompkins wants me to get another opinion about my injury. It'll have to be enough."

 

She wasn’t sure it would ever be, not where Fredericks is concerned. "And if he detects, yet again, that you’re struggling more than you let on, what will you do?”

 

Bruce's eyes softened. “Face his accusations with you by his side.”

 

She was flattered but she didn't see how either of them would manage to keep his memory loss a secret.

 

Bruce’s phone rang. “It’s Gordon,” he said apologetically. “I should take this.”

 

Selina poured herself a glass a water and settled in a chair near Bruce. She wouldn’t be leaving Bruce’s side for awhile. She had a feeling change was coming sooner than they thought.

 

_____________

 

“You could stay with us.”

 

It slipped out before Gordon could take it back. And then, when he thought of taking it back, it didn’t seem right to withdraw his offer. It was the least he could do since he’d had to forfeit the trip to the specialist.

 

Not only that, but here was the perfect chance for Jean Paul to maintain his cover as Andrew, and for them to place Fredericks’ granddaughter in a safer environment. And for Andrew to prove to Bruce that he was trustworthy.

 

Although, Andrew had a lot to do to make up in that department, after blackmailing him with Selina’s identity. His hands were tied, though. He had to give in somewhat in order to keep Miss Kyle’s presence in Gotham under the radar.

 

“ _Stay...with you?_ ” Bruce said after a brief, and much-needed, silence.

 

Still, his tongue was tied. What was he going to say to Barbara? Like he needed one more thing to prove he placed Gotham over their marriage. But, if he needed that one more thing to test her limits, to see if she meant what she’d said, this was it. Bringing a presumed dead billionaire playboy into their home and asking her to keep quiet about it was asking a lot.

 

He couldn’t lie about Wayne being alive, but...this might just work. Wayne was in danger. He had been the victim of fraud, of further demise, and feared for his life. His father’s friend and esteemed board member, Douglas Fredericks, was in similar trouble, but could not leave the clinic because his daughter was ill, too. And his young granddaughter was all too vulnerable.

 

The cover—not a lie—was logical. They were both wealthy men. It wasn’t unbelievable to think that Wayne, especially, would want to leave the clinic behind him for a more comfortable place, away from Crime Alley, where his parents had been killed.

 

Andrew could bring Wayne here after dark, as well as Cora, who had bonded with Bruce. Gordon couldn’t bring the others here or they’d raise suspicion at the clinic.

 

Cora, safe, along with Bruce, here at Gordon’s. It would give them all piece of mind. If Bruce felt he could act the playboy again for the sake of his true cover.

 

And _if_ Annette could bear parting with her daughter for one night.

 

He’d have to tell Barbara about Wayne, but then she’d always loved children. She’d do all she could to help them, and welcome Cora, even if Wayne’s sorry state didn’t convince her of it first.

 

Babs shot him a curious look, to which Gordon closed his eyes. “Yes.”

 

A second, and more uncomfortable silence followed. And when Bruce failed to ask what he’d meant by “us,” he realized the younger man had forgotten he’d said it at all.

 

“ _Gordon?”_ Bruce asked, then cursing, he added, “ _I can’t remember what we’re talking about.”_

 

“Is Cat with you?” he asked.

 

Babs was so quiet, so natural here in his office during her visits. He often said things he shouldn’t, forgetting, ironically, that she was there, too.

 

“ _Yeah_ ,” Bruce said, voice rough and quiet. “ _Gordon, I’m sorry I can’t keep things straight. Being here...at the clinic...it’s getting to me.”_

 

Wayne’s confession revealed an unexpected vulnerability—he was embarrassed.

 

“That bad, huh?” Gordon said quietly. For some semblance of privacy, he turned away from his daughter, who feigned interest in her laptop.

 

Bruce let out a strangled sigh. “ _You can’t imagine.”_

 

“It’s fine, Son,” Gordon said —and thought to himself that his own brooding son probably wouldn’t even notice that Gotham’s Prince was visiting that night. “Let me talk to Cat.”

 

_________________

 

“ _I’m getting groceries. I heard Cora like popsicles,_ ” her mother said through the phone. “ _Sorry I took the car without mentioning it.”_

 

“It’s okay,” Babs said, getting up from her desk. She’d just put in an hour into one of her classes, not that it had done her any good. Since getting home from seeing her dad—and Jean Paul—all she could think about were their guests tonight. “I can’t believe you agreed to do this.”

 

Barbara sighed. “ _Neither can I. But, I can’t turn a child away.”_

 

Which is probably why Dad told Mom about Cora, first. “And Mr. Wayne? Can he even carry an intelligent conversation?”

 

“ _Don’t judge, Babs,_ ” her mother warmed.

 

“I’m not,” she said honestly. “I’m just wondering how dense he really is.”

 

“ _Apparently, he’s been through a lot. Your dad said he’s changed. That said, even if he’s still a—”_

 

“An idiot?” Babs suggested, recalling every single memory she had of Bruce Wayne on TV, in interviews, at Gotham’s law enforcement ball.

 

None of them were good.

 

 _“A difficult man,”_ her mother emphasized, “ _I want both you and your brother to be nice.”_

 

Jimmy? Nice? “Yeah, good luck with that,” Babs muttered.

 

Barbara sighed again. “ _Tell Jimmy to call me. He’s not answering his texts.”_

 

“He’s probably hiding in his trash bin.” She had no idea how Jimmy managed to walk in his room. Although they’d been home one day, he’d somehow managed to cover it with magazines, books, clothes—and who know what else.

 

Her mother ignored her. “ _Then finish cleaning the guest room. I’ll be back to make dinner, before they arrive.”_

 

“I’ll tell him, and I’ll clean,” she agreed, and hung up.

 

Babs thought she had an idea about the trouble her brother kept getting himself into, and had given him sound advice before coming to see Dad, but when she found him on the porch, in broad daylight, smoking—she had to seriously rethink her role as his adult, big sister.

 

“What are you doing?” she hissed, plucking the cigarette from his fingers.

 

“Hey,” Jimmy protest, reaching for it.

 

She was too quick for him, tossing it to the floor and smothering it with her foot. “You’ll get cancer.

 

“Tell that to Dad.”

 

“He’s quitting, for Mom.”

 

Jimmy snorted. “Like he hasn’t done that before. It won’t work. It never does.”

 

She wanted to debate that particular point with him, because she knows for a fact Dad had quit at various time, but they didn’t have a moment to waste. “Dad is coming home soon, and mom, too, you moron.”

 

“How was I supposed to now that?” Jimmy complained.

 

“I’ve been looking for you for ten minutes, when I should’ve been cleaning.” She ignored the glare he gave her. “What’s gotten into you?”

 

“None of your business,” he spat.

 

“It is when everything you do affects the family. And Mom doesn’t need more stress.”

 

He scowled, taking out another cigarette.

 

She grabbed the package, but he held on. “Give me those,” she said, gritting her teeth. When he didn’t, she asked, “Where did you get them this time?”

 

“Like I’d tell you, Tattle-Tell,” he retorted.

 

“You really want to be doing this when they get home?” She wrinkled her nose. “You stink.”

 

He gave her an exasperated look but let go of the pack. He walked past her, towards the front door. “So leave.”

 

“You’re going to get caught. Especially if you don’t take a shower and wash your clothes.”

 

He stopped and looked back, his gaze sharp. “Don’t give me advice when you won’t even tell Dad about what that asshole Devon did to you.”

 

Her breath hitched. Of course he had to bring that up. “He didn’t do anything.”

 

He stared at her incredulously. “Right. Just nearly date raped you. That’s nothing.”

 

Her body went cold. “But he didn’t—

 

“Still, he hurt you.” He paused. “Emotionally, right? Betrayed your trust? You don’t go anywhere, anymore. I’m surprised you went to Dad’s office.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Why should I? Someone has to talk about it. You won’t.”

 

She started to shake, and wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s none of your business,” she said.

 

“Exactly,” Jimmy said, narrowing his eyes on her. “Just like my smoking is none of yours.”

 

“That’s not the same thing.” She followed him through the door, but when he began to climb the stairs, she stopped. “Jimmy, would you just listen?”

 

“Nope,” he said, taking the steps two at a time.

 

“Bruce Wayne will be here tonight. He’s in trouble and needs a place to stay.”

 

“And I’m Harvey Dent,” he called out, disappearing from sight. “‘I believe in Harvey Dent,’” he mimicked in a high voice, the words echoing down the hall.

 

She hated when he did that. It was mean-spirited, deliberately goading her, goading them all. No wonder her mother had been depressed.

 

“Jean Paul will be here, too,” she called back. “With Wayne.”

 

There was a brief silence before Jimmy peered at her from around the corner. “You’re lying. J.P.’s been long gone for years. He’d never come back to Gotham.”

 

Part of her wished he hadn’t. He looked good. She was glad they hadn’t had that much time to talk when she was at Dad’s office. “He did. He’s working with Dad. And he’ll be here, tonight.”

 

“With Wayne,” he repeated.

 

“Yes.”

 

He scoffed. “Wayne is dead, there’s even a gravestone with his name on it, and I don’t give a shit about your crush.”

 

She swallowed. “I don’t have a crush on Jean Paul.”

 

Jimmy grinned wickedly. “I meant Wayne, Babs. We all know you saved his picture on your computer.”

 

Her face heated. “I was thirteen.”

 

“And yet it’s still there,” he said in a sing-song. “Wonder how washed up he’ll be, now that he’s broke. And old.”

 

“He’s not even forty. That’s not old. And it was fraud,” she explained. “Dad said.”

 

“That’s just a cover up for something else.”

 

“Go shower,” she insisted. “And Dad said you can’t tell anyone about Wayne.”

 

“Who would I tell, anyway?” he sneered. “And who would believe me, when I don’t even believe me? Or you?”

 

She hated the lost look in his eyes more than the defiance. The tainted expressions that never used to be there. Innocence, long gone.

 

What had happened to Jimmy to make him so hateful? Even after the incident on the roof he had still been decent to everyone. Sure, the years passed and they’d suffered because of their parents’ divorce, all of them had, but she wasn’t cruel to her family. Then again, she was the big sister and had always been given more responsibility.

 

“You’ll make friends,” she promised him gently, as if he were six not sixteen. “You always do, when you’re not being nasty. Maybe you should try harder to be nice.”

 

He blinked once, then shot her a baleful glare. She didn’t blame him. She sounded too much like Mom.

 

“You suck,” he hissed, and walked away.

 

Babs stared at the empty space where he once stood for a long moment, pretending she didn’t feel like crying.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are always greatly appreciated!!!!! 
> 
>  
> 
> Please note I’m taking liberties with canon characters and ages, etc. There’ll be at least one scene with Clark next chapter—sorry he’s been absent for a couple! :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Hope you enjoy the update—and the new content. Please pardon any mistakes—working without a beta. :)

 

“There’s something about you, Wayne, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

 

As Bruce finished packing the last of his things into his bag, Andrew’s eyes probed him for answers he didn’t have.

 

“What you see is what you get,” Bruce said, adding the last black shirt to his short stack of t-shirts. “Especially here.” He glanced up at Andrew. “You know there isn’t much privacy at a clinic like this. Especially when your physician mandates therapy several times a day.”

 

People went in and out of his room in a steady stream, including Selina, who helped Blake keep an eye out for Fredericks and his family.

 

He hated giving up his privacy, yet he couldn’t call attention to himself more than he had, already.

 

“Hmm. Well, are you ready to emerge from your cocoon, Wayne?” Andrew asked, throwing him a non sequitur that left a sour taste in Bruce’s mouth. When Bruce didn’t answer, he added, “You know, if anyone can keep your identity a secret, it’s them.”

 

Bruce was more prepared to show his face Gordon’s family than to place his life in Andrew’s hands. He hesitated to put his complete faith in Andrew—he’d learned there were few people he could really trust—but he thought he could trust him more than he could Jean Paul, the son of Gordon’s now deceased, childhood friend and first partner on the force. Which, of course, didn’t make a lick of sense. Andrew and Jean Paul were one and the same.

 

Yet, if anyone understood the idiosyncrasies of maintaining a dual identity—and the way one could overpower the other—it was Bruce.

 

He just had to rely on his instincts and be on his guard at all times.

 

Jean Paul was blackmailing them for Selina’s identity and falling effortlessly into his cover. No one but a handful of people had seen Andrew, the therapist-cop, walk out the back door with Beth that fateful day.

 

Bruce would do anything to protect Selina, but he drew the line at what could ultimately threaten the lives of both Lucius and Alfred—revealing his darker self and alter ego, Batman. And, as much as he hated to admit it, he was vulnerable.

 

“I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” he said belatedly.

 

After a night at the Gordons, he’d be leaving Gotham the next day, two at the most. If he had his way, he’d be leaving this city in the dust, and anything that reminded him of it. At least the clinic would soon be a distant memory—literally. That was the funny thing about having a memory problem. The loss was the one thing he could count on and it wasn’t funny at all.

 

As soon as he changed and finished packing, he’d be officially discharged, Andrew would wheel a case of unusually large therapy equipment out the door beside him, and Selina would see him later tonight, under the disguise of a pizza deliverer.

 

Although the therapists’ case was fairly large and fitted to provide enough oxygen for an adult, Bruce was grateful Cora was so small. Leslie intended to lightly sedate her with the hopes to keep the child quiet and comfortable inside.

 

Bruce hated the thought of Cora in the dark, scared and alone. Yet, sedating the child was the safest way to get her out the door and, although it was still risky, anything was better than the alternative, the attention of the enemy Annette had inherited from her deceased husband.

 

They could not risk the child’s life, yet they were risking something just as precious. Cora’s mental state. It didn’t sit well with Bruce or Selina, who understood child traumas more than most. Neither of them were pleased with any of the risks set in place.

 

“You sound...worried.” Andrew straightened his back and crossed his arms, his muscles pulling at the fabric as it stretched across his chest.

 

It was hard to miss the detective’s impressive physique. Compared to his own recently diminished one, Andrew was a giant. If Gordon was wrong about this guy, Bruce would struggle to gain the upperhand in the event of a fight.

 

“I’m not,” Bruce denied.

 

“I recommend that you stick with the PT,” Andrew said, changing the subject with ease. “Even if it’s on your own.”

 

“That’s your professional option?” Bruce asked dryly.

 

Andrew smiled. “I studied to do my job here, and I have an eidetic memory.”

 

“So do I,” Bruce challenged, kicking himself even as he confirmed it.

 

“Really.”

 

“Used to, anyway. Hard to believe, I know. It’s a family trait.”

 

Andrew nodded. “You received blunt trauma to the head. You’ve been beaten. Anyone with a brain could see that.”

 

Bruce raised a brow. “Anyone?”

 

Andrew shrugged. “Okay, so not just anyone. Someone like me.”

 

His humility was astounding.

 

“A detective?” Bruce asked. “Or is there more to you than that?”

 

Andrew glanced up at the clock, then turned back to Bruce. “I don’t know. You tell me. By the way, that clock’s one minute fast.”

 

Bruce grabbed the dark gray hoodie folded on the end of his bed. “Actually, it’s ahead by seventy-five seconds.”

 

Andrew grinned. “So, you’re just a washed up billionaire, taking advantage of people who don’t have the time to spare, especially one who should be on the run?”

 

Bruce worked his jaw. “Leave her out of this. You’ve done enough, don’t you think?”

 

“Fair enough. But like I was saying, it’s hardly believable that a rich asshole like yourself just happens to have a knack for details and wants to play hero to a stranger.”

 

Andrew spoke his mind, he had to give him that. “Well, when you put it that way…” Irritated, Bruce yanked the hoodie over his head. “Why don’t you just come out and ask?”

 

“And, what, pray tell, do you think I should ask you?” Andrew asked innocently.

 

“Obviously not the time,” Bruce muttered, straightening his sleeves.

 

“I think you’re hiding something more.”

 

“Other than being at the wrong place at the wrong time?”

 

“Maybe,” Andrew mused. “Your injuries don’t add up, neither does the feigned idiocy.”

 

Bruce had no choice than to act like it was part of his plan. “You’re right about one thing. I can’t tell you how exhausting it is pretending to be an airhead half the time.”

 

For once, Andrew looked surprised. “You acknowledge it’s an act?”

 

Bruce combed his fingers through his hair and looked outside, watching the cars passing by the clinic. “In this business, I need people to believe I’m less,” he said, offering an explanation that hopefully got him off his back. “If they expect more from me, Wayne Enterprises would always be in my hands, when I don’t want it to be.”

 

He could also keep in an eye on things from that vantage point, observing what his employees were really like from a distance. People had always shown their true colors when they thought he wasn’t looking.

 

“You don’t give a fuck about the chaos you left behind, do you?” Andrew asked.

 

Had he even heard a word he said? He had a feeling he was just trying to antagonize him to get a reaction. “That’s a harsh assumption, isn’t it?”

 

Andrew arched a brow. “It’s not an assumption. It’s fact. Face it. You left, and now other people have had to clean up the chaos.”

 

 _Chaos_.

 

A shiver traveled down Bruce’s spine.

 

He looked away, curling his fingers tightly around the top of his cane. “You know nothing about chaos,” he said, staring out into light of day.

 

For a moment, he wished was in his cave, instead, losing himself to a familiar, numbing darkness.

 

Andrew made a noncommittal noise in his throat behind him. “Struck a nerve, did I?”

 

Bruce turned carefully, slowly, his thoughts on his sore knee. Once he stabilized his leg, he looked at Andrew, his pulse racing as an image of the Joker flashed through his mind like, God help him, a bad joke. “That chaos was fraud,” he forced through clenched teeth.

 

Andrew frowned. “Supposedly. I think you made it easy for them to get to you. How did they get your prints? You’re not exactly close to anyone, except maybe your butler. You’ve been a hermit for, what, at least five years now?”

 

“Something like that.”

 

Andrew’s eyes swept over him. “It’s a bad look on you, by the way.”

 

“You’re a bit too young to pretend you’re a seasoned cop,” Bruce said. “You’re, what, two years out of the Academy? If that?”

 

“Oh, please, like you could tell the difference.”

 

Bruce could see the wheels turning in the other man’s head. He should probably stop now and maintain the peace between them, but Jean Paul was getting too close, pushing him for secrets he could not divulge.

 

“I don’t know.” Bruce mused. “You certainly have the attitude—but the humility? Not so much.”

 

Andrew’s eyes flickered with irritation. “I’m not sure you understand how stupid it is to think that you, a washed-out billionaire, could actually protect a three-year-old.”

 

He hated to think of “Wayne” managing Cora’s safety, too. “We’ve all had to grow up. Even playboys.”

 

“Maybe so.” Andrew’s jaw flexed, signifying to Bruce that he wasn’t the only one sensing the tension between them. “But with the amount of maturity you’d need to be considered an actual adult, it may be bit of a stretch.”

 

Ouch. “I have a reputation to uphold,” he said, defending Wayne.

 

Andrew snorted. “Reputation is right. You’re a selfish animal, Wayne. Just look at Cat—has she even had a moment to herself? Even if she has, she probably thought about you, the needy, vulnerable patient with no recollection of how he sustained his injuries, the entire time.”

 

Bruce wished he was ignorant of the way he monopolized Selina’s time. “I’m not that single-minded.” And neither was Selina. “If you recall, I’m not the one who’s blackmailing an innocent civilian.”

 

“Innocent is a strong word, Mr. Wayne,” Andrew murmured.

 

Bruce looked sharply at him. Where had he heard that before?

 

Andrew leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped. “But, we won’t think about that right now. Everyone caters to you. Everything revolves around you—even Gordon—or haven’t you noticed?”

 

Bruce wasn’t sure he liked where Andrew was taking things. What was this really about? Something had to be driving this personal attack on Wayne.

 

“Someone did just spend weeks reducing my memories to ashes,” Bruce said. “Or hadn’t you noticed?”

 

Andrew laughed and shook his head. “You just proved my point. You’re too selfish to see it. Not that I can blame you.”

 

“If you have have me figured out, then what’s the problem?”

 

Andrew’s smile dropped. “My problem is that you have Gordon wrapped around your finger, and you plan to do the same to his family.”

 

Bruce thought for a moment. So there was a reason behind these passionate accusations. “You care for them, don’t you?”

 

He didn’t think it was possible, except…it made sense, if he’d known Gordon for a long time.

 

And then it came to him.

 

He looked at Andrew, the pieces falling into place. “You care for her. For Babs.”

 

Andrew’s expression instantly shuttered. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were the detective.”

 

Bruce somehow managed to withhold a self-incriminating grimace. “Lucky guess, that’s all.”

 

“I didn’t say you were a good detective,” Andrew said with a short laugh. “She’s just a kid.”

 

“No eighteen-year-old girl is just a kid,” Bruce pointed out. “Especially if she’s Gordon’s.”

 

Andrew ignored him. “Be ready in five minutes.” The detective turned to leave, but stopped just short of the door and looked back. “I suggest you work really hard on remembering that.”

 

“You must be relieved you didn’t quit your dayjob,” Bruce said without batting an eye. “Your bedside manner could use a little work. It’s the worst.”

 

“I never said it wasn’t, Mr. _Wayne_ ,” Andrew said before leaving.

 

“For the record, you were an awful therapist,” Bruce muttered behind his back.

 

Andrew just laughed.

 

Scowling, Bruce grabbed his watch from the counter, half-tempted to throw it at the detective. But when he looked up, Andrew had vanished and in his place was Selina, leaning against the doorframe, her eyes burning holes into him.

 

Bruce set his jaw. “What?”

 

“You were a little hard on him.”

 

He wasn’t sure he’d been hard enough. Not when it came to Selina’s safety. “You heard all of that?”

 

“I didn’t have to. I smelled the testosterone as soon as I stepped into the hallway.”

 

Guilt pricked his chest against his will. “It wasn’t that bad,” he denied. “I just wanted to see how far I could push back.”

 

She entered the room, going straight to where his bag was on the bed. “Oh? So, what he said, about you using me, really didn’t bother you?”

 

The insinuation _had_ bothered him. “He didn’t mean most of it.”

 

She unzipped the bag and started shifting through its contents. “Most of it.”

 

“He’s fishing.” Bruce sat on the bed, replaying the conversation in his head. “Not that I blame him. Your presence here...and my injuries...they’re bound to make anyone suspicious who loves to play detective.”

 

Her expression revealed nothing as she continued rummaging through his bag. “It’s a good thing you’re leaving this place.”

 

He frowned. “What are you looking for?”

 

“Just checking that you didn’t forget anything.”

 

“Oh.” He looked up at her, a strange feeling crawling into his chest. “Am I self-centered?”

 

He hoped not. He didn’t want to be.

 

She paused. “I’m not going to answer that.”

 

“That’s comforting,” he said.

 

She threw him a look. “I only meant that I shouldn’t _have_ to answer it. You’re the least selfish person I know. For God’s sakes, you flew a bomb out of Gotham with no intention of surviving.”

 

He winced at the reminder of his near-suicide.

 

She watched him for a moment, and from the look on her face, and a feeling in his gut, he couldn’t help but wonder if she thought he needed a psych consult.

 

He sometimes wondered if he did.

 

She finally sighed. “For the record, no, I don’t agree with him. I think you’ll have to get away from here to see that.”

 

One more day—and he would be leaving Gotham. If he had his way, it would be for good.

 

She hesitated. “You won’t be coming back here, will you?”

 

“The clinic? Or Gotham?”

 

“Both.”

 

He gave a short laugh. “I don’t want to ever come back.”

 

There was too much pain here, years of loss chaining him to an even darker future.

 

“We’ll take it one day at a time, Bruce,” Selina said.

 

“Thanks for the sweatshirt, by the way.”

 

She zipped his bag closed, her eyes hooded. “I wish I was going with you directly to Gordon’s. Fredericks’ keeps pushing for it. Seems that he trusts me more than you right now.”

 

 _Fredericks_.

 

He groaned and sat on the bed, putting his head in his hands. He can’t believe he’d forgotten about their chat with Fredericks. “We talked to him, didn’t we?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Please tell me I'm wrong and that I didn't fall asleep.”

 

"He mentioned your penchant for taking naps, yes.”

 

Naps? That was putting it nicely. "He didn't agree to join his family and come with us, did he?"

 

"Actually...he did."

 

He looked up. "He did?"

 

"Despite the fact that you fell asleep in the middle of the conversation,” she said dryly.

 

Relief slammed into his chest that although he couldn’t save his father’s company, he could help save one man his father had depended on. “But...” he prompted, catching a look in her eye.

 

“I think he’s mainly putting up a front to protect himself and his family,” she admitted.

 

"That, I can understand." Bruce paused. "What else is it you aren't telling me?"

 

"You had to make a decision because at first he didn't agree."

 

Bruce began to pace, aggressively attacking each step until he felt the lingering ache in his knees, pain that reminded him of his many mistakes and cautioned him against making more.

 

“Fredericks always drove a hard bargain,” he said. It was one of the many reasons the older man had been a board member all those years. "I told him about my memory loss, didn't I?"

 

"You know you wouldn't have been able to hide it for very long.”

 

Fredericks also knew him. Not as well as Alfred, but well enough to know if something was off. “I had to try.”

 

“I know,” she said. “The good thing is that it influenced him enough for him to agree.”

 

“He pitied me, you mean.”

 

When she didn’t deny it, he picked up his pace, irritated that yet another of his secrets had been revealed.

 

The trip itself was a threat, and not only to his identity but to their safety. According to the notes in his journal, he'd taken every precaution he could think of planning their departure from the clinic, all for the sake of Fredericks' family. One precaution he kept close to the chest. Very close.

 

"Bruce, after you fell asleep, he asked why you haven't told Alfred," she said softly.

 

At that, his mood completely plummeted. Rather than reply to the loaded statement, Bruce opted for silence and the comfort it brought. Alfred had always understood that about him. His longer spells had hardly phased the older man, although at times they'd frightened even Bruce. He didn't know if Selina understood, but he vaguely remembered holding her hand in silence for an extended period of time.

 

He stood, feeling like he was half a man, with one knee brace snaked around his leg, barely suppressing a wince with each painful step to the window. His defenses were down, his silence damning him.

 

He closed his eyes, wishing he was far, far away from here. Alone, apart from everyone, even her. What had he planned for his life after escaping the bomb? Whatever it had been, it had been pushed to the side for a month now and would be cast aside, indefinitely.

 

Selina stood beside him. "Will you? Tell him?"

 

In the past, Fredericks had at times reminded him of the Waynes’ ever-faithful servant and friend—Alfred. But since he’d first awakened this morning, everything reminded him of his father figure. Even Leslie, who had been more concerned and motherly in her actions than he could remember.

 

He’d almost told her to back-off. He wasn’t used to such gentleness. It was almost too bittersweet for him to process, signifying he’d sustained some level of emotional trauma.

 

But Selina brought up a question that grieved him, and he had to ask himself if he’d forgiven Alfred completely? At all?

 

He could say, with certainty, and guilt, that he had not.

 

"I don't know," Bruce lied, and some of the old darkness that had haunted him for years found the cracks of his heart, nudging its way through.

 

A suppressed grief threatened to shatter the rest of his defenses, but he would not bend to it. He pushed against it with his past mental training, refusing to completely yield to what would, in turn, reveal every weakness. He must have a reason for his silence other than that, deep down, he struggled to forgive the man he still loved as a father.

 

Even if the memory came to the surface in the future, who knew if he'd be ready to meet with the man who had hurt him so deeply it felt like a knife to his heart.

 

He just wasn't ready. Not yet.

 

Hearing a knock at the door, he grabbed his bag and took one last look at his room. It lacked many comforts to which he was accustomed, but it had served its purpose as he convalesced.

 

His eyes softened on Selina. “See you tonight?”

 

She watched him and, despite the dark circles under her own eyes, they missed nothing. “Just for the record, I’m not a fan of the red uniform and the hat shaped like a pizza. I’d prefer anything over pizza—even a taco.”

 

He swallowed and took her hand, smiling for her sake. “You’re beautiful no matter what you wear.”

 

Her gaze sharpened on him. “Don’t get all soft on me, Wayne. I’m wearing it for Cora’s sake, not yours.”

 

Yet she was here, with him, adapting, when she could have been anywhere else.

 

Emotion clogged his throat. What was wrong with him? He huffed a watery laugh. “I should go. That would be Andrew.”

 

“Don’t let him get to you.”

 

“I won’t.” It was difficult to withdraw his hand.

 

“You’re better than him,” she said. “And far more equipped for this than you realize. Cora is depending on you, don’t forget that.”

 

He reached out and caught her jaw with his hand, admiring her inner strength, her resolve.  
“Why do you stay?” he whispered.

 

Her eyes danced across his face. “You know why.”

 

His chest tightening, he lowered his head, careful to look into her eyes and not at her parted crimson lips, although he wanted to lose himself in those, too.

 

She smelled like rain. The mansion. _Home_.

 

“Thank you,” he breathed onto her cheek, willing this moment into his memory. “For everything.”

 

Before she could pull away, he kissed her, there on her cheek, then again, and again, angling downward with each kiss until he reached the corner of her mouth. He paused, stroking her jawline with his thumb.

 

Her breath hitched as he touched her lips, gently, even tentatively, at first. He could tell she was skittish, anxious underneath the bravado. He would not push her for this.

 

But soon she turned her head and pressed her mouth against his, slipping her arms around his neck and bringing them closer. He was hungry for her and now that she’d essentially made the first move, he would not hold back.

 

As their kiss deepened, he swore to himself he wouldn’t alow his limitations inhibit her life. Maybe Andrew was right. Maybe she deserved better than this from him. He’d already jeopardized her safety.

 

She broke contact, pulling away from him with an inscrutable expression.

 

As he swallowed back his disappointment, although the hesitation was likely his fault, not hers.

 

Her eyes flickered over his face. Throat thick, he stood like an idiot, at a loss for words.

 

She slid her hands down to his shoulders, lingering on his biceps as if she, too, were reluctant to leave. “Better not keep him waiting.”

 

He gave her a crooked smile. “No, we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?”

 

“Play nice.”

 

“I’ll try.” He committed Selina’s face to his memory as they met Andrew at the door.

 

Forgive Alfred? When he could hardly remember what he had for breakfast each morning? When he couldn’t forgive himself for letting Selina’s identity fall so easily into Andrew’s hands?

 

No, he wasn't ready. Not yet.

 

____________

 

As Babs set the last spoon on the table, it dawned on her that her father had not stopped pacing the living room floor.

 

While her mother was busy chopping lettuce for the salad, she clocked her father’s nervous habit through the narrow doorway. He’d been at it for four minutes and counting. It wasn’t all that unusual. She could remember the first time she’d noticed the trail worn through the carpet, a trail her mom hated. It had been the year before Harvey Dent had kidnapped them, around the time her parents’ marriage had started to crack.

 

She didn’t want to blame the Batman for her parents’ relationship problems—it seemed wrong to speak ill of the dead—but she wasn’t sure she couldn’t _not_ pin some of the blame on him. It was either the Bat—or her father’s absence from their lives—or her mother’s weakened emotional state at the time.

 

She wasn’t naive enough to think her mother should bear the brunt of the blame when it was Gotham and its oppressive and chronic pain that had broken her father—and maybe even the Bat.

 

Batman had become a curse word in the Gordon household as soon as the vigilante had emerged from the darkness for the first time.

 

“Dad?” she called out as he came into the living room.

 

He made not move to stop wearing out the floor, his gaze to the ground. Whether or not he’d heard her was immaterial. This—his obsessiveness—told her what she already knew. That something about this looming visit from Wayne bothered her father.

 

Unable to steer clear of a mystery, especially one involving a supposedly dead ex-billionaire, he wanted to know why.

 

But if she approached him, it wasn’t like she was expecting him to reveal the details. This was police business, and her father always acted honorably within his profession, abling a vigilante aside.

 

Not for the first time did she wish she was at the Academy, taking up the path her father had carved out for her without his knowing.

 

No, he had no idea how much he’d influenced her, or what she did in her spare time now that she was trying (but mostly failing) to forget her ex-boyfriend misdeeds.

 

But she wouldn’t be a victim. Her mother had played the victim, up until now, anyway, taking the pain of both her son and daughter upon herself and forgetting they had suffered, too.

 

“Dad,” she called again, this time reaching out to grab his arm and squeezing it.

 

He stopped and looked up at her with a blank expression. “Did you say something?”

 

“You’re wearing another hole in the carpet,” she murmured, tossing a cautious glance back at her mother.

 

He looked beyond her shoulder to where her mother was preparing the last of the meal for their guests.

 

He sighed. “I shouldn’t have let your mother agree to this.”

 

“You couldn’t have stopped her, anyway,” she pointed out.

 

“True,” he said. “She’s stubborn.”

 

“A family trait, I hear,” she quipped.

 

He gave her a small smile. “Where’s your brother?”

 

“His room.” Or, she thought, outside on the roof, no doubt smoking again. She couldn’t believe he’d risk smelling like a chimney right now.

 

Her dad sighed. “I wanted him to be here. I can’t explain this more than once.”

 

This? Babs lets go of his arm, taken aback by the resignation on his expression. “Explain what?”

 

Her dad sank into a seat on the couch, his features shadowed by the dimly lit room. “I realized tonight that in order for us to heal—I need to be honest.” He swallowed. “About everything.”

 

She sat down next to him. “And that’s a bad thing?”

 

He turned to look at her, his smile even more honest than usual. “I don’t want to betray Wayne’s trust...any...any more than I have, already.”

 

“Oh.” Her dad grew quiet, a silence Babs had learned to respect from an early age.

 

“But for your mother’s sake,” he said. “What else can I be but honest?”

 

“I’m not sure I understand well enough to give my opinion,” she said. When he didn’t reply, she added, cautiously, “Does Wayne have some kind of hold over you, Dad?”

 

If he did, she’d make sure he didn’t by the time he left their home.

 

“Hold?”

 

She hesitated. “Dirt?”

 

“It’s not like that. It’s…” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything. You’re my daughter, not a cop.”

 

She couldn’t let it go now that he’d baited her. “Is it something Mom should know?”

 

He looked away. “That is the issue, isn’t it?”

 

“Dad, you have to give me something.”

 

“Okay,” he said cautiously. He turned to her, adding, “I owe him my life. Several times over.”

 

Just as she was about to ask what he meant, she heard a thump above them, followed by two more, three seconds apart.

 

Her dad stared up at the ceiling, his mouth firming into a line. “They’re here.”

 

She eyed the ceiling. “They couldn’t have just used the backdoor?”

 

“Not when it’s barely night and the neighbors are having a barbecue on their porch. It was better for them to use the trees to help their cover.”

 

It was a good point, but she still had a difficult time wrapping her mind around the fact that Wayne had actually climbed the massive trees in the backyard. And not just a tree, but most likely two or three of them just to get to the window.

 

Her father couldn’t be serious. “But how did he—”

 

Her mother rushed in, towel in her hands. “Was that them? Mr. Wayne? How in the world did they manage to get all the way up to the second floor with a child?”

 

“He climbed,” Babs said. “It’s the new trend, if you’re a adrenaline junkie and dead billionaire.”

 

Her mother’s mouth fell open. “Climbed? As in...the tree?”

 

“It’s considered an official sport,” Babs deadpanned. “It’s a good thing. Wayne has to earn a living, somehow.”

 

“Babs,” her father warned her.

 

“I don’t know how else you’re going to explain it,” Babs pointed out. “Unless he’s a banana-eating, limb-swinging mammal in disguise.”

 

“Trust me,” her father said, chuckling softly and bewildering them all the more. “It was easier than you could possibly imagine.”

 

_____________

 

Barbara didn’t know what she’d expected after creeping up the stairs like she was the stranger not Wayne, but it wasn’t the sullen, hooded figure hunched in the middle of the hallway with Jean Paul beside him, the younger man’s expression the same as she remembered from before.

 

Harsh. Judging. Reserved. And a side of smug.

 

She’d never liked him—Jean Paul—especially whenever he looked at her daughter like he wanted to eat her.

 

“We ran into a little trouble leaving the clinic,” Jean Paul said to Jim.

 

“What kind of trouble?”

 

“They’ve tagged Bruce, somehow.”

 

Wayne’s shoulders visibly tightened.

 

Jim cursed under his breath. “You lost them?”

 

Wayne nodded. “Barely.”

 

Jean Paul wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “About twenty blocks from here.”

 

“Nineteen,” Wayne said tersely. “Then we drove for another eight. You parked the car in an abandoned driveway, on Ursula Avenue.”

 

That was a half mile away. “You walked all that way?” Barbara asked.

 

Wayne must be exhausted. She couldn’t see his shadowed face, but he had hunched over like he was in pain, despite the child he held.

 

Jean Paul glanced sideways at Wayne. “I’m surprised you were paying attention enough to remember that—and that you can count that high.”

 

Wayne snorted. “That’s low, even for you. And, just for the record, I can count to fifty-one. The number of blondes I’ve dated.”

 

Jim coughed into his hand, the corners of his mouth curving up, looking suspiciously like a smile.

 

“Wow, you’re actually a genius,” Jean Paul deadpanned. “You father would be proud.”

 

That earned a scowl from Wayne. “Do you always feel this need to find a way to insult me?” Wayne asked.

 

Jean Paul shrugged. “You just have this tendency to bring out the worst in me.”

 

“Believe me, the feeling’s mutual,” Wayne muttered. “But at least it means I’m multi-talented.”

 

“If only it was enough to get you an actual job. You’re gonna need one to pay for all of those legal fees. How you lost all of your money is astounding.”

 

“Fraud,” Wayne said.

 

“Fraud, my ass,” Jean Paul said.

 

“Boys,” Jim warned in a low voice.

 

Jean Paul smiled thinly at Jim, showing a row of brilliant, white teeth. “Sorry, Boss.”

 

“My apologies, also.” Wayne wavered on his feet, the small child in his arms quiet and still, as if she were sleeping, his arms wrapped tightly around her. He cradled her head against his shoulder, like she was his own.

 

Jim sighed. “I’ll call for a detail to watch the house.”

 

“Jim,” Barbara said. “Is it safe?”

 

“We’ll be fine,” her husband assured her.

 

“Not us,” she said softly. “Cora.”

 

“They have no reason to keep watch here.”

 

“If this is a problem,” Wayne began.

 

“It’s not,” Jim said. After a pause, he added, “Bruce, how is she?”

 

“Fine,” Jean Paul started to say.

 

“How do you think?” Wayne interrupted tersely. “She was sedated and locked in a dark trunk.”

 

Sedated? “Oh, my,” Barbara exclaimed, her hand to her mouth.

 

Cora whimpered, strangling Wayne’s neck with what looked like all her strength.

 

“The poor thing,” Barbara whispered. “May I take her?”

 

Wayne grunted. “You’re welcome to try,” he said, “but I don’t think she’ll go to you just yet.”

 

She nodded. “I’ll wait until she’s more comfortable.”

 

Jim waited another beat before nodding, ignoring the obvious tension between the two men, and motioned to the stairs. “Let’s go downstairs, give her time to settle in for the night. Barbara has food ready, if you’re hungry.”

 

Wayne’s arms tightened more around the child. “Her stomach has been growling for the past ten minutes.”

 

“Well, no one fed her,” Jean Paul muttered.

 

“She couldn’t eat,” Wayne gritted out. “She sensed everyone else’s anxiety.”

 

Despite the tension between the two men, Barbara offered a small smile. And although she still couldn’t make out the billionaire’s features or even Cora’s, she made sure she looked straight in his direction, saying, “I made her favorite. Mashed potatoes. And poured a bit of wine for you, Mr. Wayne, if you’d like. I wasn’t sure what would help—this must be stressful for you—so I just gave you just a little.”

 

There was a heavy pause, her husband staring at her like she’d lost her mind. And maybe she had. Yet, she couldn’t help but get the impression that Wayne was at the end of his rope, and Cora in need of a little mothering.

 

Wayne had made no effort to come into the light, like Jean Paul had. Neither had he relinquished Cora, which confused her. To her knowledge, despite their vague connection through Douglas Fredericks, the two hardly knew each other. And Wayne wasn’t the fatherly type, at least according to what she’d seen of him on TV or read in the papers and tabloids.

 

Wayne nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

 

She smiled. “Follow me. If you’re not comfortable in the dining room, the living room is always available, as long we keep the curtains closed.”

 

“The dining room is fine,” Jean Paul said tersely before Wayne could reply. “Fewer windows.”

 

After she reached the bottom of the steps, she stepped aside and watched Wayne use the wall for support as he limped his way down the stairs, carrying Cora. It appeared to have taken a lot out of him, for when he reached the bottom of the stairs, he was breathing heavily.

 

“You alright, son?” Gordon murmured.

 

Wayne nodded tersely, shifting Cora from one arm to the other. “This might surprise you, but I never really climbed trees as a kid.”

 

“You don’t say,” Jean Paul muttered.

 

“No, I imagine the activities private school kept you busy,” Jim offered.

 

Barbara hid a smile, leading the way into the dining room. Babs had just poured water into her own glass and looked up, her eyes widening when she saw their guests.

 

“Mr. Wayne, you may remember my daughter, Barbara,” Jim said.

 

“I do.” Wayne hesitated—and pulled off his hood. “You brought her to the ball that one year. Babs, isn’t it? Do you still like archery?”

 

And when she saw him. When the light hit his face. The dark circles under his eyes. The face carved by worry lines. The haunted yet concerned expression. The eyes reflecting a bit of confusion. The goatee transforming his usually cleanshaven, strikingly distinguished face into something more guarded and darker—almost too dark—she found herself reeling back in shock, both oddly unnerved and dismayed.

 

The room was silent. She looked expectantly at Babs, but her usually stoic daughter was staring at Wayne, her mouth hanging open.

 

“Babs?” Jim prodded.

 

Babs blinked twice, clamping her mouth shut. “I…” She looked at Jim, then back at Wayne. “I…”

 

Barbara, too, was at a loss for words. Wayne looked nothing like she remembered. Who was this person? This was not Gotham’s prince.

 

“It appears that, for once, my daughter is speechless,” Jim said dryly.

 

“I seem to have that effect on people,” Wayne offered. “I think it’s my money.” He frowned. “Or, the lack of it, in this case.”

 

Jim’s moustache twitched. Barbara made a mental note to ask him what he found humorous in this situation. Not only was the man broke, he was obviously very ill.

 

“Why don’t you sit here, with Cora,” Jim suggested, saving them all. He indicated to the two empty seats on the other side of the table. “Andrew will take this one,” he said, waving to the other empty seat across from them.

 

Wayne silently took his seat, Cora in tow, but before Jim could join them, she tugged at his elbow.

 

“What happened to him?” she hissed in his ear.

 

Jim frowned. “Barbara—”

 

“Don’t you ‘Barbara’ me,” she said in a hushed voice. “I deserve more than that, don’t you think?”

 

He nodded, looking resigned. “Fine,” he murmured. He took a breath and gave Wayne and Jean Paul a forced smile. “Don’t wait for us. We’ll be right back once we find Jimmy,” he said before pulling her into the hall.

 

“That man is not Bruce Wayne,” she told him when they were alone.

 

“He was hurt, Barbara,” Jim said. “He’s been on the run for months now.”

 

“At the clinic,” she said.

 

“At the clinic,” he repeated.

 

“Then why does he look he’s been through hell and back?” she demanded.

 

“Because he has been through hell,” he said quietly. “He’s still not well, Barbara.”

 

“Yes, but—there’s something about him,” she said. “Something...familiar.”

 

Jim froze. “What do you mean?”

 

She pictured Wayne’s face. It wasn’t hard. Jim had looked the same at some point in the past. A detective’s curse, she’d always thought. “Maybe...maybe it’s that haunted look in his eyes like you once had.”

 

Jim’s brow met in confusion. “When?”

 

“Do you remember your first partner?”

 

He grimaced, no doubt thinking how lucky he’d been to have called off with the flu that fateful day. “How could I forget?”

 

“When he died, when he was shot, dead, in the daylight, you walked around like a zombie for weeks, looking just like that.”

 

Gaunt. Traumatized. On the verge of breaking.

 

“I was grieving,” Jim said.

 

He always denied his survivor’s guilt. “Yes, but—”

 

“Barbara,” he said gently, and then he did a strange thing.

 

He reached for her hand.

 

Her heart stopped. She couldn’t help but pause and look at her hand in her husband’s for the first time in months.

 

She’d missed this more than she wanted to admit. Missed him. And even this cursed city, if it meant having this closeness, again.

 

“Trust me,” he whispered.

 

“I do,” she confessed. “But…”

 

He tightened his grip. “Please. I will explain, Barbara.”

 

“When? Today?” She gave a short laugh in the silence, her heart squeezing with a familiar pain. “Did I come back for nothing?”

 

“No, but I can’t say...not yet. You know...you know I have to keep peoples’ trust.”

 

“What about mine?”

 

“Barbara,” he said, as if that was enough.

 

It wasn’t. God help her—it wasn’t. “I hate your secrets,” she said, fighting the fresh bitterness in her heart.

 

“They’re not my secrets.” His hand touched her face. “But, you’re right. I’ll explain tonight.”

 

Although she could tell he was being honest, painfully so, she wasn’t sure she should believe him for the sake of her heart. “We should find Jimmy before Wayne and Andrew have it out.”

 

“You noticed,” Jim said dryly.

 

“Hard not to.” She was no counselor—she was a mess, herself—but she had been a detective’s wife for decades.

 

She knew rivalry when she saw it. She also knew emotional pain. And guilt. Especially that.

 

And Wayne was crippled not only by whatever injury he’d sustained, but by this painful burden he seemed to also be carrying.

 

“About Wayne…”

 

Jim worked his jaw. “Don’t do this, Barbara.”

 

“Don’t do this?” she asked incredulously.

 

“Don’t question me about him. Not yet,” he said. “He deserves his privacy until I check with him. I owe him at least that much.

 

“You owe him?” She couldn’t help but feel misled. “Why would you owe Mr. Wayne even a dime?”

 

“We all do,” he said.

 

She looked doubtfully at him.

 

“Think about it,” he said. “He took a financial hit from Bane that would have buried the rest of us. He was an easy target. The only target.”

 

She frowned, still not understanding. “You better look for Jimmy.”

 

He nodded, but she could tell by his expression that he would have preferred to stay behind, buffering the conversation at the table. “Save me a plate.”

 

_________________________________

 

Bruce chose his words carefully over their meal, which proved difficult whenever Andrew tried to antagonize him.

 

But it was obvious Barbara Gordon deftly intercepted those barbed statements, going as far as leading them into the living room when he was just about to take another sip of his wine against his better judgement.

 

But Jean Paul—Andrew—was giving him a migraine. One glass was all he could handle, he thought, without yielding to the wine’s effects. But he was on his second glass to maintain his facade.

 

“Is that alright with you, Mr. Wayne?” Barbara asked.

 

He set down his glass. It was half full. “Bruce. Call me Bruce.”

 

“Bruce, then.” Barbara smiled.

 

“She’s awake,” Babs said softly, staring at the bundle in his lap.

 

He glanced down, Cora meeting his eyes sleepily.

 

Amazingly, she didn’t appear frightened even as she looked around the room, at the strangers staring back at her.

 

“Cora,” he said softly. “Do you remember what I told you?”

 

She yawned. “Uh-huh. That we are going away.”

 

“And that you’ll be safe with me.”

 

Her eyes began to close. “Mommy?”

 

“Tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll meet her tomorrow.”

 

Her stomach growled.

 

He offered her a smile. “Do you think you can eat?”

 

“Stay,” Cora said in a small voice, clutching at his jacket, her eyes wide and awake and frightened.

 

His heart twisted in his chest. “I’m not leaving,” he said, smoothing back the hair from her face.

 

“Pwomise?”

 

“I promise,” he said.

 

“Looks like you have a friend for life, Mr. Wayne,” Barbara said. “Why don’t you take her into the living room, and I’ll warm up her food.”

 

He nodded. “That’s fine. Is Gordon returning?”

 

He had no idea where he’d gone.

 

Barbara looked at him, a puzzled look on her face. “Yes, we just discussed that he was getting Jimmy, although he should have found him by now.”

 

His heart sank. Of all times for his memory to crumble. “I apologize. You’re right. We did. I’ll just go into the living room and wait.”

 

He rose to his feet, Cora burying her face in his chest. Although she seemed fine, and she was a naturally brave child, he sensed that this was a bit too much for her.

 

Andrew grabbed Bruce’s glass. “Looks like you need this tonight, mate. I’ll bring it along.”

 

“I’ll find a blanket for Cora,” Babs said, getting up from her seat. “It can get chilly in the living room this time of year, surprisingly.”

 

“Thank you.” With Cora in his arms, reminding him of the danger they were in, he left the room, his thoughts racing.

 

He still didn’t understand where Gordon had gone, why Selina wasn’t with them, but he couldn’t let on that he was confused. And he couldn’t let them find out about the migraines, either.

 

He sighed, turning into the hallway—and ran straight into a body as tall as himself.

 

He let out a pained huff, bracing his body against the wall to stable himself and keep from dropping Cora.

 

The room spun. He closed his eyes, soon feeling a hand at his elbow, steadying him.

 

“Oh, geez, shit—”

 

“Jimmy,” Gordon said in a warning voice.

 

Bruce opened his eyes to see Jimmy frantically inspecting him from head to foot, then Cora, as if expecting them to be hurt. “Aw, man, I’m sorry,” Jimmy said. “Dad told me to be careful, and I wasn't looking.”

 

“Neither was I,” Bruce said dryly.

 

Jimmy froze at the sound of his voice, slowly lifting his gaze.

 

“No harm done,” Bruce assured him.

 

Ignoring the wide, shocked look the young man gave him, that couldn’t be recognition, he sniffed the air.

 

It smelled like...cigarettes.

 

He narrowed his eyes on the teenager. “Have you been smoking?”

 

Jimmy gaped at him.

 

“Yes, he has,” Jim answered, instead, a grim look on his face. “On the roof.”

 

“The roof?” Bruce asked Jimmy in disbelief. “You were smoking—on the roof?”

 

“I- I—“ Jimmy stammered.

 

“Don’t,” Bruce said sharply. “”I thought you were smarter than this, Jimmy.”

 

Jimmy’s face had gone white. He stared at Bruce. In particular, at his mouth, the only part that was exposed when he wore his suit, Bruce thought ruefully.

 

So there was some recognition there. As there should be. Jimmy had had time on that rooftop to memorize his face, had he wanted to.

 

In that case, Bruce would not go easy on him, for Gordon’s sake. And maybe, just maybe, he could make life a bit easier for the Gordons. He knew Jim well enough to understand that he didn’t want Jimmy to become addicted to cigarettes like he was, that Jimmy’s activities could be a source of tension in the family.

 

“Do you know what kind of risk you’re putting yourself in?” he challenged Jimmy. “And your family? Especially when you smoke in secret?”

 

Jimmy swallowed and shook his head.

 

“Let me ask you this,” Bruce said. “If you’re careless, if something happens, like you or one of your friends leaving a cigarette burning outside, and a strong wind blows across the roof, as they do in Gotham this time of year—believe me, I would know—what then?”

 

“I don’t...” The young man’s voice shook. “I guess....”

 

“That’s the problem. There’s no guessing,” Bruce said. “You’re either putting them at risk—your sister, Jimmy, and your mom—or you’re not.”

 

“What’s this about?” Barbara asked, coming out into the hallway, Cora’s food in hand.

 

Bruce took a deep breath, giving Gordon time to answer. Giving himself time to think. He shouldn’t have gone off on Jimmy like that in front of everyone.

 

“Nothing,” Jim said. “We were just discussing…”

 

“Bats,” Jimmy interrupted, a slight squeak to his voice.

 

Bruce nearly groaned.

 

Barbara frowned. “Bats?”

 

Jimmy flushed, nodding. “Bats. I found one upstairs,” he rushed out. “In my bedroom. That’s why...that’s why I…”

 

“I took care of it,” Jim interrupted smoothly. “No harm done. The Bat is gone.”

 

“Yeah, the Bat’s g-gone—” Jimmy stammered. “But, I hope, I mean, maybe he—it—isn’t dead, after all. Just...escaped. Just...hurt. Maybe...hiding.”

 

Bruce closed his eyes in complete resignation.

 

“Oh. Well, thank goodness it’s gone, at least.” Barbara brushed past him and the others, retreating to the living room. “I hate bats.”

 

“I know you do,” Jim said softly.

 

_The others._

 

A cold feeling of dread swept through Bruce. He’d forgotten they were there.

 

_The damn wine._

 

It had loosened his tongue more than he’d thought.

 

He sighed, the weight of the situation settling heavily along his shoulders. He glanced at Gordon, who then looked beseechingly at Babs and Andrew.

 

“Dad?” Babs said breathlessly. “Is he...is Bruce…?”

 

“Not exactly the way I wanted you to find out.” Jim exhaled a long breath. “Believe me.”

 

“Oh, God.” Babs turned to stare at Bruce as if he were a ghost, a range of emotions playing on her face, horror being the least of them. “Dad— _Mom_. You can’t tell her.”

 

And Andrew—he watched Bruce with that inevitable, smug expression. Like the cat who’d caught the canary. “Well,” he drawled. “I knew something wasn’t right about you, but this—this is even better than I expected, Wayne.” He grinned. “Or, should I say— _Bats_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are more than welcome! I would really love to hear from you. <3


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